Rhapsody in You
by Flash McGowen
Summary: Anthony DiNozzo wore many hats: The sexy special agent with the vogue style. The street wise, combat savvy investigator. The loyal second in command. But a father? Just... No. No! ...no? Tony/Ziva. Tony/Gibbs: father/son bonding.
1. The Rat

Disclaimer: I'm disclaiming...not that I ever had a claim in the first place.

The words of Flash: I probably shouldn't be starting another story, with Boy With the Blues unfinished and all, but I'm sort of infamous for doing as I shouldn't. ;) That and I had the urge to write a Tiva fic, especially after the finale.

The idea came to me after listening to some songs. So, this is just me entertaining myself. I hope it does the same for you.

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter One: The Rat

* * *

You've got a nerve to be asking a favor

You've got a nerve to be calling my number

I'm sure we've been through this before

Can't you hear me? I'm beating on your wall.

Can't you see me? I'm pounding on your door.

-The Rat, The Walkmen, Bows + Arrows

* * *

**Maryland Metropolitan Transition Center**

**Baltimore, MD**

The interrogation room was sparsely furnished: just a metal table and matching folding chairs. The walls were colorless, bleak slabs of unpainted concrete. The dim lights and thick, acrid smell of cigarette smoke wrapped the room in a blanket of doubt and unease. As Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo watched the door, he wondered if he was right in coming.

He watched with a flutter of shock as his host was led into the room. The man had lost weight, his face swallowed by hollow cheekbones. Eyes that were once so stoic and resilient were small and desperate. He was lethargic and depressed, like he was trapped in a box he'd lost the will to get out of.

The prisoner was deposited into the confining metal chair; hands cuffed behind his back, his ankles shackled. Tony nodded his greeting. Rodney flinched, as if the sign of respect was foreign. The guards removed the handcuffs and the prisoner moved his wrists as if they'd been resuscitated.

Both men nodded absently as the corrections officer's dull voice rattled off the list of rules and regulations. The guard moved towards the door, slamming it on his way out.

"Didn't think you'd show," Rodney Sullivan said. He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, eye's darting like a snake's tongue.

Tony flashed an industrial strength smile as he pulled up his chair and sat backwards, legs spread, his elbows draped across its cool metal back. "Seeing you look like a bucket of shit was worth the gas."

Rodney bristled, looking Tony up and down. "Nice suit. Uncle Sam must pay well."

He shrugged and popped his collar. "Just think, with the twelve cents you'll be making an hour you'll be able to afford this bad boy on the...what?" he tapped his chin and snapped his fingers. "Ah, Thirty-fifth of Never?"

Rodney released a jarring chuckle. "Cute, DiNozzo."

"So, you gonna dick me around or are you gonna tell me why I'm here?"

"That any way to greet your best friend?"

"What was left of our friendship has fossilized."

Rodney stiffened. "Ouch."

"Just thought I'd turn the knife. Look man, the past is the past. If you're looking to wax sentimental or use my position to get you a few extra..."

"I didn't ask you here as an agent. I asked you here as a brother."

Tony let the words sink in, drumming his palms against the table.

Finally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he threw his head back, sending his room-shattering laughter vibrating against the rock hard walls. Unfazed by Rodney's cold stare or the agitated looks of the guards outside, Tony continued to laugh until it was physically impossible.

Finally sobered, he dabbed at the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "Rodney, let's be clear, I wouldn't spit on fire to put you out. You pissed on our brotherhood along time ago so don't come crying for it at your eleventh hour."

"You slept with my little sister. You took advantage of a vulnerable girl. What was I supposed to do?"

"You change your morals like jumpsuits, Rod. You weren't exactly chivalrous when it came to the freshmen ladies."

"She was my little sister!"

"She was a consenting adult and it was a frat party. If it helps, I didn't know about your common DNA until you broke my nose."

"No, not so much."

Tony shrugged. "Tis the thought that counts."

"I have a question for you. Mind if I ask?"

"You just did."

"Would it kill you to act your age, not your shoe size?"

"Probably."

Rodney groaned and ran his hand through his oily hair. He reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit and produced a photo. Taking a final look, he smiled and slid it across the table.

Tony picked it up and sat it down. "Cute kid. Bone structure's too good to be yours, though"

He shook his head. "She's my niece, Carly's kid. Might as well be mine though, I've been taking care of her since she was seven."

"Where's Carly?"

"Who knows," he shrugged and sighed. "One day I come home from work and find Joplin in my living room, eating pizza and raiding my flick stash. She introduced herself as my niece and the rest is history. Carly was nowhere to be found, still isn't."

"Joplin?"

"Guess Janis Joplin took a piece of my sister's heart. Apparently she knows what it's like to be hung out to dry."

"Bravo Rodney! Bravo!" Tony applauded, a slow smug unrolled across his face. "You dawned a cape and saved your niece from the hell that was your sister. Unfortunately, you kinda neglected to think about how your little game of 'shoot the CEO would affect her."

"Don't you dare judge me!"

"I didn't come here to judge you. You've been judged by twelve and sentenced to be carried by six. Neither of which I care to change, not that I can, even if I wanted to. We both know that. So, what do you really want?" Tony slid the photo back to its owner and closed his eyes as if to wring the girl's face from his memory.

"What happens to Joplin?"

"The FBI agents handling your case probably transferred her care to Child Protective Services."

"I'm being shipped to a federal cage and before I go, she has to be taken care of. She can't go back to another foster home. I promised her."

"Should've thought of that..."

He removed his hands from his hair, balled up his fist, and slammed it on the hard metal. "I know that!"

"It's not _what _you know, it's..."

"It's _who_ you know, exactly."

"I as gonna say 'do'."

Rodney looked at him, a slow, deep scowl gathering his brows. "Look at the picture, Tony." He said coolly.

"I did."

"No, _really _look at the picture."

Tony folded his arms and angled his head in the direction of the thin, glossy paper. "Now why should I do that?"

"Just look at the damn picture! Look at her eyes!"

"Oh come on! For what—?"

"Because their yours!"

* * *

**READ, POR FAVOR**: I know this plot line has been beaten to death with sticks, but I wanted to get a few licks in.

With that said, I need your help:

How old should Joplin be? I've settled on either thirteen or sixteen, but can't decide between the two. I have storylines planned for both ages and "eeni meeni mini mo" just ain't cutting it. So please, help!

Also, I'll be using lyrics for this story. Wanna hear the songs? Just let me know. :)

Thanks for reading. Feedback is definitely loved and appreciated!


	2. Paralyzed

**Feast Your Eyes: **So, with your help, I reached a decision regarding the length of time Tony's spawn has been on the planet: Thirteen years since her birth in 1993, making this story set in the beginning of season four and onward.

I really appreciate the feedback and help. You have no idea. If only I had you guys the year I was struggling to pick a college...

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Two: Paralyzed

* * *

Arms and legs in between

Caught inside a stupid dream

Look for her, but cannot see

I give up! I give up!

There's no time to believe

The only way to cope is to realize...

-Paralyzed, Rock Kills Kid, Are You Nervous

* * *

Tony sneezed and wiped his nose with his Armani sleeve. "Whew! Excuse me! My bullshit allergy's acting up."

Rodney's brown eyes flared. "You think this is some kind of joke?" he snarled, rising to his feet, though his ankle restraints threw a wrench in his plans.

"If you were anymore full of crap your eyes would be brown. Oh, wait! Never mind."

"DiNozzo...Tony, come on! Do you really think I have time to play games with you?"

"Actually, I don't. These are your last moments, Rod. Do you really wanna spend them playing pin the teenager on Tony?"

Rodney lowered his head and scrubbed his eyes, his fists knocking off the droplets of sweat that had formed on his brows. "Look man," he said more to his palms. "I know, I know it's wrong for me to spring this on you."

"You think?"

"Carly...she was just a kid, you know? Naïve on a good day and stupid on a bad one. I mean, she actually thought...she actually thought you two would start an insta-family when you found out she was pregnant," he laughed humorlessly. "Like I said, naïve."

"You don't honestly expect me to believe this."

"Honestly, no, I don't, but you're that kid's only hope. You're _your_ kid's only hope."

"I distinctively remember you opening up a can of whup ass when you found out about your sister and I. You would've _loved_ to ruin my life with a 'baby makes three' spiel."

"I was protecting my sister. At the end of the day, she and her kid were all that mattered."

The special agent cleared his throat. His green eyes darted like a cornered Rabbit, already combing for avenues of escape. "She told me it was some other guy's. Some kid she met..."

Rodney looked genuinely surprised. "She talked to you?"

"Some of the girls were gossiping, it got back to me," he shrugged. "I confronted her, she told me...she lied," he closed his eyes briefly. He re-opened them slowly, like a water bird fishing around a pond trying to pretend it wasn't there, that it was a rock or stick or a dribble of water. With a quick joggle of his head, he laughed and smacked the table. "She lied! Why'd she do that?"

"Because she had no idea what she was doing," Rodney gave a short laugh. "Never did. All she wanted to do was protect you."

"While we're quoting romance novels, are you gonna tell me she sacrificed herself on the altar that is my love?"

He shrugged. "If she did, she never told me. You were the first person to notice she was alive and she gave you what she thought would keep you around. You didn't lie about the man you were, I'll give you that. She just got caught up and when she finally figured you out, she rolled with the punches and moved on. Like I said, stupid and naïve."

"Not stupid, trusting and courageous. She was a great girl."

"For all the good it did Joplin."

"Joplin," he chuckled, reaching for the picture.

The light above them suddenly flickered and for a brief moment, it managed to illuminate the concrete box and the teenage girl in the photo.

It was strange, seeing himself in someone else. An instinctive flame of pride ignited inside of him and he smiled. As if ashamed of his spontaneous act of humanity, Tony downed the glass of water the guard had brought in a single violent swirl, the liquid's hard aftertaste burning his throat.

"I just have to check with Dana about this."

"Who?"

"Dana, as in DNA, one of the few women I know that doesn't lie."

"All you have to do is look at her!"

"Ever heard of casting?"

"And if she's yours?"

"I'll figure it out when the time comes."

"Well you'd better start soon. That kid's been through a lot. She doesn't need anybody else building her up and cutting her down."

"Sorry Agent DiNozzo, but visiting hours are over," the guard announced, poking his head in.

"Don't screw this up, DiNozzo."

He flung his jacket over his shoulder and slipped on his shades as he silently headed for the door. He paused short of opening it. "Did Joplin ever tell you why her mother left?"

Rodney shook his head. "Not for my lack of trying. Kid plays it close to the vest. She got that from you."

* * *

A day later, Officer Ziva David sauntered into work drenched in the afterglow of a glorious weekend. Her expression was serene, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a mischievous grin, her wide brown eyes two beacons of brilliant light.

She glanced at her co-worker, the one she loved like the socially retarded younger brother she was grateful she never had—denial wasn't just a river—and fired up her sarcasm arsenal.

"So, how was your weekend?" Ziva asked, her voice sizzling with glee as she settled in behind her desk and turned on her computer.

She frowned at having run into a wall of silence.

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo wasn't exactly known for being tight-lipped.

Tight assed? Maybe. Tight lipped? Not so much.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Tony! Your weekend! How was it?"

Fail.

Ziva David never failed. Mossad trained her, after all.

Groaning, she pulled herself up from her chair and made a beeline for Tony DiNozzo's disheveled desk.

Elbows on his cold faux wood desk, cheeks in his palms, Tony clutched handfuls of his immaculate brown hair and tugged. He was staring at the manila folder stretched out before him—like a mirror—slowly shaking his head.

Ziva's concern bubbled and threatened to boil over, but Tony, who had a sixth sense when it came to genuine human emotion, snapped out of his bout of—whatever it was—and closed the file.

Flipping on a 2000-watt grin, he grabbed the folder and stuffed it in an open drawer. "So, you and Mystery Man seal the deal?"

Ziva frowned, scrutinizing him with an investigator's eye.

"From the pep in your step, I'd give it...oh, two thumbs up?"

"You!" She pointed at him, her eyes two mind probing slits. "Something is beefy here and it is you."

Tony leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head for pillows. "Did we have McGee hack into the shower room security cameras again?" Cocking his head to the side, he smirked. "Do I detect a note of homicidal rage in your peepers?"

"You know what?" she growled, ringing her perfectly manicured hands. "Forget it." With a final 'humph', she returned to her desk and dove into the state of overwhelm described as her inbox.

"You asked how my weekend was."

Her head shot up.

He sounded like a...normal co-worker. Professional? Courteous? Mature? Something was wrong indeed.

"I did," her reply was tentative.

"My former best friend received a death sentence."

"The one who, as you so eloquently put it, 'beat your ass like a piñata'?"

"That'd be the one."

"That good then?" it was out of her mouth before she could think. "That was bitchy, even for me. Tony, I'm..."

"Sorry?" he finished for her and shrugged. "We weren't exactly Jay and Silent Bob, Zee-vah."

"No, silence is not one of your few virtues."

"...I knew it was gonna end the way it did. So did he. Doesn't make it any easier for the people he left behind, though."

She was at his desk, a comforting hand on his shoulder before she knew it—and he didn't push it away.

"It is often very...difficult to lose a friend, the quality of the relationship notwithstanding."

"It's not what I'm losing, but what I could be gaining."

"I do not understand."

He held onto her eyes for a moment before leaning down and pulling open the drawer. He slid the file in her direction, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

She flipped through the file, but thirteen-year-old Joplin Sullivan and her history with Child Protective Services boar no significance to Ziva.

"She's my daughter," he said more to his desk, his voice low and smooth. "At least she could be. I don't know what to believe anymore."

"How?"

"They don't have sex education in Israel?"

"Apparently they do not have any in America either. Were you not indoctrinated in the benefits of contraceptives?" She sighed at his narrowed eyes. "What does this have to do with your frat brother?"

"She's his niece. Her mother's his little sister. Carly was a freshman, I was a senior...last frat party before graduation...things happened."

"I always feared the prospect of teenage DiNozzos traipsing the globe."

"Well imagine how _I _feel about the prospect of a teenage DiNozzo traipsing around my apartment. And a _girl_...going through _puberty_...eww!" he grimaced and tilted his head toward the ceiling.

"Children are gifts, Tony."

"I was a good boy this year, Santa," he whined. "Bestow this gift upon another like...Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie...they like the progenies of other progenitors"

"What are you gonna do?"

"CPS shipped her off to some reform academy in Utah right after the FBI placed her in their care." Tony lifted his fingers in air quotes. "According to her file 'The minor child Joplin Sullivan is a troubled teen struggling with severe behavioral issues. It is recommended she be sent to a therapeutic and education environment removed from her current familial situation."

"I guess being a tote case is genetic."

"Basket case! American slang and colloquialisms: learn them. They're your friends."

"Ziva! DiNozzo. Cuddle on your own time. Dead Marine. Grab your gear."

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched his senior field agent over the plastic lid of his ever present coffee cup. Tony remained rooted to his chair and Ziva's hand still rested on his shoulder. Gibbs frowned and tossed his now empty cup in the wastebasket by his desk.

"Did I stutter?"

"No!" Ziva shot to attention, dropping her hands to her sides.

"Course not, Boss."

"Something wrong?"

"Yes!"

"Good, Boss."

Gibbs furrowed his arched brows. "Well, which is it then?" he snapped, though his tone was less impatient than usual.

"Tell him," Ziva commanded through gritted teeth, nudging his arm.

Tony shot her a glare and against his better judgment, he released the cause of his not so internal anguish. "I may need to take a few personal days." He shifted his weight, right to left, like an overworked pendulum. "I think I...reproduced."

* * *

Two evenings later, Gibbs stood at his senior field agent's door, with his packed duffle bag in his right hand, two round trip tickets to McCarran International Airport in his left.

"Boss?"

"Are you just gonna stand there or are we gonna get the hell outta dodge?"

Tony rubbed his cheek. He wasn't in the mood. Not that he'd let it show—too much—he valued his life and joining Rodney Sullivan in the igneous flames of hell didn't sound like a plan.

"Look, Gibbs, I don't need..." he was interrupted by the sting of Gibb's hand thwacking the back of his head. "Boss..."

"If I wanted to hear a debate I would've tuned in to C-Span. Shut up, grab your gear, and get the molasses outta your ass."

A staring contest ensued and naturally, Tony was annihilated. Grabbing the handle of his suitcase, he locked up his ultimate bachelor pad and ran off toward Gibbs who was already turning the Dodge Charger's ignition.

* * *

**Cedar Breaks Academy**

**Parowan, Utah**

**Two Hours from Las Vegas, Nevada.**

Cedar Break's Academy's purpose was to establish a therapeutic and educational environment emphasizing and promoting family reunification plus the dignity and importance of each individual girl—to give students the tools needed to become a person of character before returning home to their families.

At least, that's what the brochures said.

He read all of them during the two-hour drive.

When Gibbs drove it was best to focus on anything but the road. Driving was like a moving version of pinball for Tony's supervisor. He had to bump a few things and ring a few bells before winning anything. Speeding tickets were nothing to him. Tony imagined the Sierra Club cited him for the destruction of the Carolinian forest.

Tony had gone to the bathroom before heading up to the director's office. When he came off the elevator, Gibbs was sitting in one of the plush visitor's chairs, flipping through a magazine Tony figured he kept in his back pocket for a rainy day.

The older man didn't look up when Tony walked past him and straight to the receptionist's desk.

In fact, he didn't pry at all. Gibbs just offered his support and a few mind awaking head slaps. No questions, no strings.

"May I help you?" the receptionist asked warmly.

Tony would've flirted with her if she weren't four days older than dirt. "Anthony DiNozzo. I'm here for the director. She told..."

A buzzer chimed. "Forgive me," the receptionist smiled, picking up the phone. "I'll send him on in." She looked up at Tony. "She'll see you now."

Without a word, Gibbs stood and followed Tony into the office.

"I'm Andrea Parsons," the woman stepped around a handsome wooden desk and offered her hand. It was slippery with sweat.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, my boss Special Agent Gibbs. I'm here about..."

"Joplin Sullivan," the woman sighed and cleared her throat.

"Problem?" Gibbs asked.

"May I interest you in some coffee?"

"Sure, you can just leave the answers I flew a couple thousand miles to get on the side with the sugar."

Gibbs just smiled.

Andrea cleared her throat for the second time and eased back into her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "It seems we have a problem, Special Agent DiNozzo. Joplin, she's run away."

* * *


	3. Dream On

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews and subscriptions, you guys!

I forgot to warn you all before hand: I'm new to NCIS, both the show and the fandom. The characters might be or already are OOC. If you notice anything, please don't hesitate to point it out.

Thanks again for reading!

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Three: Dream On

* * *

There's no time for hesitating

Pain is ready, pain is waiting

Primed to do its educating

Unwanted, uninvited kin

It creeps beneath your crawling skin

It lives without it lives within you

-Dream On, Depeche Mode, Exciter

* * *

Andrea cleared her throat for the second time and eased back into her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "It seems we have a problem, Special Agent DiNozzo. Joplin, she's run away."

Gibbs remained silent as he moved around her desk and picked up the phone, punching in a number.

After a moment, Tony's cell phone rang, shattering the terrible inertia that seized him. When he saw the number displayed on the caller ID, he smirked and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Point taken, Agent Gibbs," Andrea rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "If it's of any consolation, we figured she be back by the time you arrived."

"Seeking comfort in your excuse," Tony closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples, humming. "None located."

"Agent DiNozzo, Joplin hasn't been...adjusting properly. She often wanders the grounds, seeking solace in her own company, but she either comes or is brought back. We didn't think..."

"No, you didn't. These are 'at risk youth', shouldn't security be on these kids like spandex on Richard Simmons?"

"This isn't a prison camp, Agent DiNozzo," she hissed, taking immediate umbrage. "We have guards posted at the main exits and strict rules and regulations regarding leave, but these kids aren't confined."

"Meanwhile she's meandering through the snow and we're playing Where's Waldo."

Gibbs looked up at Tony, his blue eyes two warnings. "Have you notified the authorities?" Gibbs addressed the director.

"If we notified the police every time that girl ran away, we'd be a major nuisance, but contrary to popular belief," she narrowed her eyes at the duo. "We aren't incompetent. We noticed she was missing two hours ago, when she didn't show up for school here on campus. We called the police and they've initiated a search on and off academy grounds."

Tony flounced over to the chairs in front of Andrea's desk and eased into one, picking in apple out of the basket in the center and stealing a messy bite. The juice ran down his chin as he spoke, apple chunks obscuring his words. "How many times...?"

He'd been in the middle of the question when Andrea got the call. Gibbs and Tony watched her let out a succession of "goods" and "yeses" in response, twirling the black phone cord around her index finger.

"Where is she?" She paused for the reply. "I'll send them. Thank you, Officer. Sorry for the inconvenience." She returned the phone to its cradle and stood to her feet, smiling. "The police found Joplin and returned her to her room."

Tony shot up and released a breath he wasn't aware of holding, information Gibbs filed away.

"I'll have one of the student volunteers show you to her room."

* * *

Joplin Sullivan sat at her desk, her nose in a book, highlighting a few passages before tapping her tousled brown head with the yellow pen. Visit from her possible papa or not, she had a geometry test in a few days and if she didn't ace it, she'd be riding the bench all season.

According to her uncle's latest letter, her alleged father was an amazing basketball player. He could've made a career out of it, but an injury threw a wrench in his plans.

Not so deep down, she wanted a father. Unfortunately the closest thing she had to one was a Reese's pieces away from his curtain call.

He was going to be murdered. An eye of an eye sort of deal. And for what? It's not like it would solve anything. Life was fragile, no matter how it was made. It was like a delicate tree branch, handled too roughly it would snap in two uneven pieces. Those two pieces could be put back together with a little help and determination.

Joplin thought about the sprinkles of bark that fell from the branch. The small reminders of the accident that were left unseen, the consequences people rarely thought about.

She knew Uncle Rodney was trying to protect her. His logic existed in a world of black and white. She would be safe with Tony—if he was even her father—and living with him was a lot better than a foster home.

Yet, what about the little speckles?

Joplin sucked in the cold, Utah winter air. She wished she could cry, but she learned long ago that it was a meaningless reflex.

Instead she flipped a page and jotted down another note.

* * *

"I'll wait outside," Gibbs leaned against the white plaster wall of the hallway outside of Joplin's room.

Tony nodded, knowing any mention of protest was futile.

Taking a deep breath to steady his mind, Tony forced himself to knock. It was gentle, almost apologetic, barely a hint of his knuckles against the green painted wood.

"Joplin, you in there?"

There was no immediate answer and he was about to knock again, harder, when she answered in a distant voice.

"I'll go for third period, okay?"

"It's Special...Tony DiNozzo. Your uncle said..."

There was another hesitation. "Joplin's in class, third period biology I think."

He rolled his eyes and pushed open the door, easing into room like he owned the place.

"Knock, verb, intrans, meaning: strike a surface noisily to attract attention, especially when waiting to be let in through a door," she said without looking up. "You should try it some time."

Tony let out a whistle as he waded through the ocean of dirty laundry, papers, CDs, tennis shoes.

"Noted," he shrugged and stole further into the disarrayed space. "We need to talk and there's no time like the present."

"Close the door."

The agent did as he was asked.

"I meant with you on the other side," Joplin groaned, tossing her highlighter on her desk and slamming her book shut. Shaking out her unruly hair, she sighed. "There's nothing to say."

"There's nothing for _you_ to say maybe. I'm a man of many words."

"Oh, well, by all means," Joplin stood and rolled her eyes. She stepped back and held her arm out in a slow sweeping motion.

Tony glided toward the bed, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

"Where'd you go?" Tony made himself perfectly comfortable smack dab in the middle of her mattress.

"Out," she frowned as Tony's Ermenegildo Zegna's created unsanitary wrinkles in her sheets. "I don't need a father."

"And I don't need a daughter. What I need is a DNA test."

She ran an irritated hand through her hair. "If you don't need a daughter, why do you have to know?"

He just stared at the messy desk, with its disorganized papers and stacks of index cards, and remained silent.

"You can get out now."

"Can't do that."

"Really?" she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.

Tony looked at the girl in front of him, this Carly child. She was tall, still lanky, but he imagined she'd be growing out of that soon. He tried to find a piece of Carly to hold onto, something to make the conversation easier to have, but his own eyes continued to stare back at him.

Her eyes...the eyes he knew she got from him...from his father...from his grandfather. DiNozzo eyes. And her eyes carry his secrets. The unknowns of his life flashed from them over and over, like an old movie that only he could see.

"You're staring at me, because…?"

Tony shook his head. "Don't you at least want to know?"

"Does it matter?" she folded her arms in front of her, the gesture brimming with arrogance.

"Yeah, it does."

"Look, Mr. DiNozzo, Uncle Rodney was enough dad for six kids. You don't have to fill a void. You don't have to hold my hand until I'm eighteen. I can take care of myself, another thing Uncle Rodney taught me."

"And your mother?"

She laughed bitterly.

"Disappearing act?"

He was surprised by her simple nod.

"Must've been tough."

She flopped back into her chair, re-opening her book. She didn't bother to look up. "I have to study."

"Joplin..."

"Listen," she stood up again. "I did just fine without my mother and I'll do even better without my father. I did learn one thing from you guys though."

"Yeah?" he sighed. "What's that?"

"How to leave. Close the door on your way out."

He watched her for a beat and with a swift nod, he saw himself out.

Gibbs watched Tony stuff his hands in his pocket after closing the door. He turned to Gibbs and laughed. "You know, that kid, she's gonna be just fine."

"You?"

"Ever get the idea you're dead and nobody bothered to invite you to the memorial?"

* * *


	4. Knowledge

**From the mouth of Flash: **Thanks for the reviews, words of encouragement, subscriptions, for favoriting and well for...everything. :)

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Four: Knowledge

* * *

We get told to decide.

Just like as if I'm not going to change my mind.

This time I got it all figured out.

All I know is that I don't know nothin'.

And that's fine.

-Knowledge, Green Day, 1039/Smoothed Out Slappy Hours

* * *

Gibbs watched Tony stuff his hands in his pocket after closing the door. He turned to Gibbs and laughed. "You know, that kid, she's gonna be just fine."

"You?"

"Ever get the idea you're dead and nobody bothered to invite you to the memorial?"

Gibbs arched his brow and kept quiet.

Tony chuckled, shaking his head as they walked toward the dorm hall's exit, bristling from the embarrassment of what had just happened but too dignified to complain.

He closed his eyes, remembering her face, her gestures, and the unadulterated resentment in her voice—he shook the familiarity out of his mind.

Gibbs just walked to the door and held it open. "Come on."

He could feel Gibbs one step behind him the entire way to the parking lot. When they reached the rented Charger, Tony waited for Gibbs to unlock the doors before he opened the passenger's side and helped himself to the cold, uninviting leather seat.

He waited for his boss to turn the ignition and fasten his seatbelt before he spoke again. "I never wanted to be a father. She's Rodney and Carly's project. All I did was make a donation."

Tony grimaced as Gibbs hand collided with his head "Boss?"

"Fatherhood is a permanent ride, DiNozzo. You don't get to jump ship."

"I never boarded!"

"Is that your daughter or not?"

"She didn't agree to a DNA test..."

"What does your gut tell you?"

He sighed deeply, fogging up a small corner of the window. He ran the pads of his fingers over it, drawing a sad face. "If she's mine, the only thing I have to offer her is distance. I'm no good for her, Gibbs."

When he looked over at Gibbs again, Tony saw the hard look in his superior's eye before the older man focused on the road again.

Gibbs tasted his words before giving them a voice. "Don't do for your kid what your father did for you." He nodded his goodbyes at the guards at the gate before making a swift turn onto the road leading back to the airport. "Nothing."

Tony seemed mildly annoyed by the conversation, straightening as if he'd been pulled on a string. He returned his gaze to the window.

As the world sped by and the snow blanketed, desolate highways were replaced with the bright lights and gaudy glamour of Las Vegas, Tony wondered if Gibbs was right.

Of course Gibbs was right. His all-knowing gut wasn't famous for indigestion, after all.

"All I got from my father was his name," Tony said, easing his paddle up denial's turbulent waters.

Gibbs slowed the car and stopped at a light. He took a sip of his now cold, gas station coffee and frowned. The things he did for Anthony DiNozzo.

The light changed and Gibbs calmly applied the gas, turning down Vegas' famous Fremont Street. "Yeah?" he said. "Well, she doesn't even have that."

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Joplin tossed her dirty clothes into the basketball hoop hamper on her closet door. "You think I'm doing the right thing?"

"I can't tell you what to do," Kylie Douglas tossed her backpack on her bed before falling backwards onto her mattress, her arms spread apart. "It's your decision."

"Oh, come on Roomie," she scooped up the last pair of basketball shorts and climbed up on her bed, cheering when she made the long shot. She sloppily plopped on her back and stared up at the ceiling, the fading basketball posters from her childhood glared back at her. "With glasses that thick, you can see into the future and tell me how my decision will affect the rest of my natural life."

Kylie rolled her eyes and ducked under her bed, in search of her beloved guitar. She drove the zipper down the case and flipped it open, stroking her instrument almost maternally.

"Can't tell you what to do," Kylie shrugged and closed her eyes as she settled the guitar across her lap. "You wouldn't be who you are if I could."

She had been at Cedar Breaks for nearly six months and while she and Kylie instantly hit it off, Joplin hadn't exactly been very forth coming about her life beyond the place's stucco walls.

Joplin nodded and stared out of the room's only window, noticing it was still snowing heavily. The snow clumped on the wooden windowsills outside and slid downward, spitting on the ice cloaked shrubs underneath. She jumped up on her knees and pressed her face against the cold glass, drawing a sad face in the fog canvas her breath created.

"At least he came," Kylie said after a beat. "Doesn't he get points for that?"

"Well, if he didn't come I wouldn't be here. I could've ended up in a napkin."

"Nice, Joplin. Really nice. I mean he came _here_, to see you."

"He didn't come for me. He came for a test."

"The point is: he came. Do you know how much the kids here go on and on about their parents not bothering to show up? They're afraid of love and life and the dark and clowns because of it. Maybe he's not perfect, but he's the only dad you've got."

"He _might_ be the only dad I've got."

Kylie shrugged and plucked out another note on her guitar. "Guess you'll never know..."

Joplin never had the balls to tell her roommate that simply because she shared Mick Jagger's trout pout, didn't mean she shared his talents. Instead she listened as Kylie butchered the Stone's Street Fighting Man and glided on the mangled notes in search of answers.

"I'm talking to myself, aren't I?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just thinking."

"You said he's in DC. If you end up with him it'll be easier to see your uncle and that's what you've been moping around about, right?"

Joplin allowed a microscopic smile to slip through the cracks and since Kylie was always great at taking hints, she got up and ruffled her friend's brown army of tangles. "Figured it out?"

"What if he's not my dad? I mean he and my mom would make ugly babies. Their bone structures are totally incompatible. I'm talking Liza Minnelli and David Gest…"

"You don't believe that."

"How do you know?

"I have midget spies posted on your nucleus amygdalæ."

"Only you would know the part of the brain that processes emotions and memory."

"See, our late night study sessions are paying off. Seriously though, if you didn't believe your uncle, you wouldn't be so worked up over this."

"Again, what if he's not my dad and I'm wigging out over nothing?"

"The only way to know is to find out."

Joplin crossed the room, seeking refuge in the bag of chips on Kylie's dresser. Groaning in—she wasn't quite sure what the feeling was, she stalked back to her bed and moved to the edge of her mattress, hugging her pillow close to her chest while she lowered her head.

"Why does my life always turn into a Lifetime movie?"

* * *

Four days after his return, Tony and Ziva found themselves on a stakeout.

So far their late night reconnaissance mission had been uneventful, leaving both restless and in search of any form of entertainment.

Conversation would have to do.

"How did it go in Utah?" Ziva asked, running her gloved hand over the frigid steering wheel.

Tony rested his coffee cup on his knee and shrugged, though not out of indifference. There was a lack of understanding in the—whatever he had with Carly's kid. He sought solace in being dutiful, in at least trying to know. Either little Joplin didn't appreciate that or it just wasn't enough. He was doing his best even though it left him feeling drained.

He didn't tell Ziva any of this, but they both knew words often went unused and were equally unnecessary. As the compassion bubbled in her brown eyes, he found himself resenting her.

He didn't want to be coddled.

He wanted answers.

"It went."

"Though not amicably, I gather."

He took a swig of coffee and leaned back in the seat with a sigh. "That kid doesn't do amicable, Zee-vah."

"Then she _is_ yours."

He drew back a little bit and narrowed his eyes. She was getting at something. She was always doing that. "Why the sudden concern?"

"If you bothered to pay attention, you would realize it is not sudden."

"Well, Jimny Cricket, get off my shoulder and dance a little jig, why don't ya?" he rolled his eyes and took another sip.

Ziva watched him, her eyes like a doctor's looking for symptoms.

"Eyes on the suspect."

"He has not moved so much as to go to the bathroom, Tony."

"Rule numero ocho: Never take anything for granted."

She smirked, though there was no trace of it in her voice. "The past, you know, it complicates our lives."

Tony smiled inwardly. He'd always known Ziva was as multifaceted as she was sexy, but apparently she had a knack for understatements.

* * *

Six hours of mundane surveillance and paperwork later, Tony pulled into his assigned space in the lot of his ridiculously expensive apartment. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and yanked himself out of the car, closing the door before heading for the row of mailboxes near his spot. He collected his mail and thumbed through it on the way to the stairs. Ads, bills, credit card offers.

What else?

A letter from Utah.

There was no return address, but the postmark gave the white envelope's origins away.

Joplin.

He examined the handwriting. It was like her uncle's. He wasn't surprised.

The drug store brand envelope was stuffed to the brim and after their lovely first meeting, he was almost afraid of its contents.

Tony opened his door and flipped on the light. He tossed his mail on the coffee table, arching his brow when Joplin's letter clinked against the glass, and walked into the kitchen. There was nothing in the refrigerator but a six-pack and week old Thai take out. He was too tired to eat, anyway.

He flopped on the couch, popped the top off a can of brew, and scooped up the overpacked envelope. The letter was written on a grease stained piece of lined paper. He smiled as the familiar smell of mozzarella cheese snaked into his nostrils.

_Mr. DiNozzo, _

_You may have accidentally given me the gift of life. _

_I'm returning the favor and giving you the gift of knowledge. _

_We're even._

_-Joplin_

He chuckled as he pulled out of plastic sandwich bag containing a fluorescent green toothbrush.

* * *


	5. The Times They Are A Changin’

**Author's Note: **As always, thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting!

Also, shout out the Belker! Your answer to my question sped up this chapter's process. You rock!

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Five: These Times They Are A-Changin'

* * *

Come gather 'round people

Wherever you roam

And admit that the waters

Around you have grown

And accept it that soon

You'll be drenched to the bone.

If your time to you

Is worth savin'

Then you better start swimmin'

Or you'll sink like a stone

For the times they are a-changin'.

- The Times They Are A-Changin', Bob Dylan, The Times They Are A-Changin'

* * *

The air outside The Booby Trap was cold, so cold that Abigail Sciuto could see her breath dangling thin as a Virginia slim from her mouth.

Her hair, a puree of pigtails and bangs, was flat as flounder thanks to minutes of nervous sweating, and she was burning up despite the bitter chill.

Should she try to stop a cab or walk the few blocks to the metro station and risk being stalked, mugged, or gunned down like a possum? She'd already been stalked and shot at and though both experiences were quite traumatic, she'd come out relatively unscathed so she opted for the stalking and shooting.

Abby wasn't the damsel in distress type anyway.

"Besides," she said to herself as her hand slid into her purse and caressed the soothing silhouette of her taser. "I can protect myself."

And with that thought lighting a fire under her platforms, she set off, not so inwardly berating her date for morphing into a jackass.

The black sedan screeched to a halt a few feet ahead of her, upsetting a moist medley of city dust and half melted snow. The passenger side window eased down.

"Abby?"

"Tony! What are you doing down..." As she walked to the car, the neon pink sign screaming, "live nudes", answered her question. "Nevermind, no need to explain."

He arched his brow. "_You've _got some s'plain' to do, Missy."

Abby grinned and opened the passenger door. Arctic, air conditioner produced breeze reeking of pizza meandered into her nostrils. A seductive voice crooned mournful, poetic love from the speakers as she buckled her seatbelt.

"I smell grease. Whatever it is, I want it."

"Large pepperoni pie," Tony tossed the greasy box in her lap and dashed away from the curb.

"Grazie!" she dug into the box with glee, producing a fat slice of trans fat joy. After taking an unoffered sip of the unguarded Coke in the armrest's cup holder, she turned her green eyes on the driver's seat. "Late night romp with your secret squeeze?"

"Sorry, kiddo, you ain't getting outta this one."

"No fair! You have yet to tell me why you and El Jefe went to Vegas last week!"

"Can't a senior field agent take a special agent in charge on a gambling trip?"

"NCIS doesn't sponsor impromptu gambling junkets, Tony."

"Would you believe me if I told you Gibbs had a fetish for showgirls?"

"Gibbs doesn't strike me as the kind of fellow who would enjoy women in bejeweled thongs gyrating to bluesy standards, redheads or not."

"Redheadday?"

"That's in September...in the Netherlands."

"Abs?"

"What?"

"Close your mouth when you chew."

"Sorry," she grinned sheepishly and swallowed quickly. "So, are you gonna tell me or not?"

"Not."

"Tooooooony!"

Tony reached over and as he adjusted the volume on the radio, he poked out his bottom lip and contemplated rather or not he should puncture his heart and bleed his latest drama all over Abby's shiny leather boots.

According to Gibbs' rule number four, the best way for one to keep a secret was to keep it to oneself.

Tony's life was a sinister, albeit titillating place, a place Abby was a part of. Lying to her about the state of it would do no good. Fabricating life, weaving sugary sweet fairy tales was a dangerous road to travel. Lies rarely ended well, even the ones of the white variety.

There was a bit of leeway Gibbs' fourth edict of existence after all. Second best, he could tell one other person. And while Abby had a tendency to come down with blabbermouth, her symptoms never acted up where his secrets were concerned.

Besides, Abby's rule number one clearly stated: don't lie to Abby.

Tony always obeyed the rules.

Certain ones, anyway.

Technically, Abby would be the third to know of his paternity predicament. Though he needed his mistress of the dark's own brand of support, scientific and emotional, even if he pretended the latter was unsolicited.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine...say, back at my place?"

"You're on!"

* * *

A half-hour later Tony and Abby sat in front of a made for cable movie neither was truly paying attention to.

Tony's day had been long and dry and unwinding was numero uno on his list of things to do. Abby was feeling talkative and was full of commentary and drollery. The forensic scientist wanted to tell a story and though he asked for it, part of him wanted to finish his beer and burn the mound of overwhelm that had landed on his life.

"So he turned out to be the ambassador of Assholelador," Abby swallowed too much pizza and compensating with a gulp of the Caf-Pow! she begged Tony to stop for, she continued. "I mean, I thought it would be fun, you know? You haven't lived unless a professional lap dancer has given you a lap dance, right? That's what all the hip, young twenty to thirty somethings are doing, right? Getting lap dances! So my date pays for a private dance and leaves me alone with the lap dance professional and I am _so_ not well versed in the etiquette of the lap dance receiver so I ended up sitting there stiff as a board while this objectified woman shakes her anatomy in my face and meanwhile my date's nowhere to be found!"

"So, essentially a guy takes you out to a strip club—I'm not even bothering to ask why you agree to go—and abandons you with a stripper, only to..."

"Make out with the bartender! Worst. Romantic. Engagement. Of. My. Life! Okay, not counting Mikel and that one time at this bus station..." she paused, cringing at his Gibbs' stare. She let out a confined breath and took another sip of her caffeinated better half. "So, you and Gibbs..."

"Were not in Vegas. We were in a small town in Utah," he answered before ducking his head. His eyes darkened with an emotion Abby seldom witnessed.

"If you're gonna break rule number one and shatter your integrity in the process, at least come up with a better lie."

He gripped the green neck of his beer bottle and took a harsh swig. "Not lying to ya, Abs."

Abby raked him with a juror's eye. "No, you're not." she nodded. "So, what aren't you lying about?"

"You know my frat brother, the one..."

"...Who eighty-sixed his boss?"

He nodded and took a quick sip of beer. "He has a niece, a thirteen year old niece who could...possibly be the fruit of my loins."

He didn't need to finish. Abby's arms were around him in an instant, holding him with an urgency that neither could understand. She just held on and when the side of Tony's head collided with her shoulder, she just listened to him breathe.

They sat in silence for a while, Tony's cheek on Abby's shoulder. She knew he was immune to platitudes and he that knew while she had many on hand, she would be kind enough not to offer them. They weren't known to have flowery words, anyway. Words were comforting, but raw and to the point.

"What can I do?"

He was silent as he eased out of their embrace and headed to his bedroom. Returning, though not bothering to sit back on the couch, he placed the bagged toothbrush in her outstretched palms.

Reading the attached note, she laughed and caressed the thin plastic. "Gutsy girl," she handed back the note, but tucked the bag in her purse. "Rather or not she's _your_ gutsy girl remains to be seen."

He drove her home a half hour after that. They talked a little, laughed some. She touched his shoulder a few times, offering her hope that things would work out.

That was the problem with his life: it was constantly working out and it still sagged with fat, unhealthy chances. He would push up, almost find a healthy routine and then like the cruel inconsistency life was, something would pull his leash and he would be dragged back to square one. He was almost ashamed of himself for losing his will to kick and scream.

* * *

Four days later, Special Agent DiNozzo swaggered into Abby's lab, a gargantuan Caf-Pow! in hand.

"To what do I owe this visit?" she asked nonchalantly, relieving him of her liquid life support.

He faced her with his time-honored cheeky grin, though it seemed rehearsed. "Toothbrush....four days..."

She nodded as he eased himself into her chair and loosened his tie a bit. "Give my baby another hour. Momma had a few rush jobs for her on top of a couple super size rush jobs plus a Gibbs job and you know Gibbs jobs trump..."

"Ring me when you find out."

"Yessum Ms. Daisy, I'll be ringing."

With a quick shake of his head, he stood and squeezed her shoulder before heading for the elevator.

* * *

Abby was a woman of her word. Well, many words, but that was beside the point.

She was a woman on a mission, a savant of science, brimming with answers. She glided out of the elevator doors, eyes focused on a certain desk.

Special Agent DiNozzo was typing away, immersed in his computer monitor. Abby gripped the manila folder tightly as she smiled her greetings to McGee and her beloved Gibbs. Abby noticed Ziva watching as she flopped the file around like pizza dough before tucking it under Tony's keyboard.

She snatched up a pen, carefully avoiding Ziva's super spy hearing. "Congratulations Tony," she began to scribble on a post-it, instinctively taking note of the elevator's 'ding'. "It's a..."

"Girl," he finished for her.

She stopped writing and followed Tony's haunted eyes to the girl making it her mission to distance herself from the nervous male escort by her side.

The bullpen's intense lighting made her green eyes look like two small swamps in the middle of her full, freckled face. Her brown curls were thrown in a disheveled ponytail, the ends of it tossed over her shoulder like a worn scarf. She was dressed like a stereotypical grassroots activist, in a grubby t-shirt and flared jeans that were entirely too long. The peace sign on her shirt had faded as if the idea faded into a distant memory.

"What are you doing here, Jack?" Tony addressed the all too familiar suit at Joplin's side, though the suitcase in his newfound daughter's hand did not go unnoticed.

"So, where do I put my stuff?" Joplin spoke before her handler.

Tony instinctively looked at Gibbs, whose eyes were on him like the barrel of a desert eagle to ready to fire—him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony caught the rest of Team Gibbs examining him and his very uninvited guests as if they were amoebae in a pretri dish.

Joplin dropped her suitcase on the carpet and cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Jack as she folded her arms and leaned against Tony's desk. "So, I take it 'Little Orphan Joplin and Daddy DiNozzo' wasn't the theme of this musical?"

* * *

**PLEASE READ: **So, thanks again for reading!

I was wondering if I could trouble you all for a game of questions and answers?

**Question One: **This probably won't come up for a while, but for the sake of accuracy, would Joplin ever come in contact with Jeanne? Although Tony eventually fell in love with her, the foundation of their relationship was an undercover mission. So, in that, does DiNardo have a teenage offspring too or does Joplin stay in DiNozzo land? Yes, this is still a TIVA story, but Jeanne does rear her head at some point.

**Question Two:** I've been accompanying the chapters with lyrics, as I'm sure you've noticed. Would you like me to create a playlist so you could hear them or is that totally unnecessary?

Thanks in advance for your opinions, folks!

* * *


	6. Nowhere to Run

**Another Flash Note:** According to Gibbs, apologizing is taboo, but here's one anyway: my bad, you know, for taking quite awhile to update. Ever been on a roll and suddenly you're...not? Yup, one of those.

Also, thank you for answering my litany of questions. :). I think I know what to do with Jeanne now. As for the playlist, it's in my profile.

Thanks for reading/reviewing/subscribing/favoriting...I appreciate it.

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Six: Nowhere to Run

* * *

It's not love I'm running from.

It's the heartaches that I know will come.

'Cause I know you're no good for me.

But you've become a part of me.

-Nowhere to Run, Martha and the Vandellas, Dance Party

* * *

Joplin dropped her suitcase on the carpet and cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Jack as she folded her arms and leaned against Tony's desk. "So, I take it 'Little Orphan Joplin and Daddy DiNozzo' wasn't the theme of this musical?"

Tony shot out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box, waving his hands as though he were conducting the outpouring before him. "What exactly is this?"

"This," Jack Carver patted Joplin's shoulder. "Is Joplin."

"Gracious greetings," She mumbled, dragging the toe of her converses across the thin carpet. Without further ado, she made a beeline for Tony's chair, afraid she was going to be trampled by the elephant in the bullpen. "Well this is one of those double entendre type of surprises," she sat down, put her feet up on the desk and rocked back in the leather swivel chair. "Like catching salmonella from a hamburger or seeing a shooting star, depending on how you look at it."

Jack smiled at the audience benignly. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting through the room like a hummingbird. "Let's bet on the latter, shall we?"

"I'd hedge your bets," Tony demurred in a voice dry as withered leaves.

A timid expression spilled onto Joplin's face, but she quickly mopped it away.

Abby, who had a knack for diagnosing discomfort, took one of the girl's hands in her own, and deemed herself the cure. She curled a black nailed hand around Joplin's arm and yanked her to her feet. "Come on, the vibe's better in my lab."

Joplin shrugged as she eased her hand away, her confidence back. She pitched her eyes at Tony, who was still lost in the translation, before allowing Abby to pull her to the back of the room and into the elevator.

When the silver doors consumed them, Joplin noticed Abby's tight grip still warmed her hand and as the lift quickly plummeted, Joplin found she didn't mind.

* * *

Looking up, Tony caught Gibbs' lacerated blue eyes. Gulping, he snatched Jack by the arm and drug him in he direction of Team Gibbs' makeshift conference room.

The main elevator's refulgent light billowed toward their eyes and Tony winced as the carriage rocked with a violent jolt of certitude. Without a word, he leaned against the metal wall's unyielding cold and flipped the emergency switch, feeling his impatience swell. He took a few deep, quelling breaths, grateful for the car's now dim veil of light.

"Nope!"

"Oh come on Tony, she has nowhere else to go!"

"What about that delinquent ranch?"

Jack sighed, raking his fingers through his dark blond hair. "Apparently her blithe disregard for their rules didn't endear her to them. They packed her bags and placed her care back into the hands of Maryland Child Protective Services. I managed to convince her caseworker to place her with me until a slot opened up in a group home."

"And how do I factor into this very inconvenient equation?"

"According to Rodney, you're Joplin's father."

Tony stiffened at the word, his mind ambling back to the folder on his desk—the daunting reminder of the newest patient in the asylum that was la famiglia DiNozzo.

"This is really starting to feel like a bad episode of Maury," Tony groaned. "Listen, as John Mayer so aptly put it, 'On behalf of every man looking out for every girl: you are the guide and the weight of her world.' We'd both feel like crap if she ended up with enough daddy issues to inspire a hit song, wouldn't we?"

"When has a Maury episode ever been good?"

Tony frowned. "Bad adjective choice, my apologies. Point is: this won't work."

"You haven't even tried!"

"What's the point of trying to walk through fire when you know you're gonna get burned?"

"This has to work. It's either your home or a group home. She's openly defiant, she acts out for attention, and I'm afraid that your daughter is going to wind up in really serious trouble unless you finally step up and take the reins as her father."

Tony shook his head. "I didn't sign up for this."

"You made that kid!"

"With Carly!" Tony yelled, losing control of his temper.

"She's not here and your daughter is!"

"So that's what this is about?" Tony laughed bitterly at the other man's caustic tone. A ghost of a smile danced on his lips. "You still haven't gotten over Carly and I."

The muscles in Jack's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"You're still mad about something that happened when Billy Idol was actually someone's idol."

"This is about your daughter, not her mother."

"Oh sure it is! Every time you look at Joplin you see..."

"You, Tony! I see you! I loved her and she chose _you_. You got the best of Carly and you didn't even want her." Jack clinched his fist around his tie, his eyes cold and his heart heavy. "I offered to help her with the baby, but she brushed me off. She dropped out shortly after and I never saw her again. Nobody did."

"That's why you're representing Rodney because it's..."

"What Carly would've wanted," Jack finished for him. "Look, DiNozzo, she's your kid. You can look at her and see that. She needs you."

"Why can't you take her? She's a perfect shrine to Carly's memory."

Jack shook his head. "I'm not cleaning this up for you, Tony."

"She obviously trusts you. From what I've heard, you've got experience with kids, seeing as you have four."

"I'm not her dad."

"Neither am I. Unfortunately for her, I'm her father and there's a big difference. She deserves better. She deserves..."

"Foster parents?" Jack interrupted hotly. "Because that's what she's gonna get if you don't take her. You need to deal with that kid before she ends up like her uncle, or worse, her mother."

"Where _is_ Carly anyway? I wasn't the only one on third base that night. Why am I the only one being pressured to run to the plate?"

"That girl's already been abandoned twice that I know of. Her mother left her with an uncle she barely knew and disappeared and the uncle she's come to love is on death row. At some point somebody has to step up and be a constant in her life."

"Speaking of Rodney, wouldn't Carly have wanted you to keep the needle out of her big brother's arm?"

"He changed his plea, against my better advice."

"Why?"

"That's something you'll have to ask him. Regrettably, you're all Joplin has left. Don't blow it."

With that, Jack flicked the emergency switch, resuscitating the elevator.

* * *

With the smirk elevating the corners of his mouth, Gibbs watched as Tony untangled himself from the elevator. He didn't know he was being watched. Gibbs knew this because there were droplets of fear, big as bullets, sniping from his eyes.

The younger man moved for the stairs, his insecurities oozing from the heart unconsciously placed on his sleeve.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, his hands on the doorknob. A menagerie of emotions stampeded in his head as he turned around. "Food break, Boss. Want anything?"

Gibbs just stared.

Tony grinned, his eyes defrosting. "Coffee then?"

The senior agent tilted his head and waited.

He swallowed and lashed Gibbs with a hollow gaze. "Jack thinks he can force my hand by driving off and leaving her here, but I'll figured something else out for her." He grinned again. "It'll be fine, Boss. Don't worry about it."

Gibbs grabbed his wrist before he could continue down the stairwell.

Tony tried to pull away, but his grip was hard and icy as a steel manacle. "Boss?"

He tilted his head and studied his second in command like a report infested with discrepancies. His eyes bedimmed with aggravation and his smile, now a thin razor blade, lacerated Tony's resolve. The younger man bled out a shiver.

"We had this conversation, Boss. I'm no good—"

The head smack was not surprising, but it was effective.

"Shutting up, Boss."

"Do yourself a favor and stop indulging your own pain long enough to see the bridge you're about to burn. When does the kid get to be considered? She didn't ask to be here. You spent your college years as a 'Sex Machine'. Well, guess what? It manufactured a daughter. Stop crying and deal with it and while you're at it, quit selling yourself short. You owe her that and you owe yourself more."

* * *

Abby Sciuto was an acquired taste.

Joplin was apprehensive at first, but her kindness seemed genuine; instantly endearing the sweet and zesty flavors that were NCIS's forensic scientist to Joplin's palate.

At first, Joplin remained guarded. Without asking, she made herself comfortable in Abby's office and watched as Abby's hands waltzed with her keyboard, typing up an evidence report.

Abby took notice of the kid's anxiety driven silence and though it took some time, Joplin began to talk to her. Those words gave birth to questions and those questions grew into stories and before either of them knew it, Abby was lounging in her chair, reliving a few memories.

"You set his car on fire?" Joplin laughed, still digging through her lungs in search of desperately needed air. "In front of the girl's house?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes when your heart's been dribbled all over the court it feels good to finally slam dunk one." Abby looked at the clock, realizing that time never stopped for stories. Gibbs' radar would soon ding and he'd be down with a Caf-Pow! and expectations. "Tony's been gone along time."

"Apparently he's good at that," she said peevishly. She ran angry fingers through the shag rug she called hair, instantly regretting the gesture when her fingers got caught.

The tattooed arms wrapped around her with such intimacy that Joplin found herself wanting to return the hug. And she would have, if her mind hadn't already convinced her that foreign touches were as dangerous as they were uninvited.

Abby, seemingly unaware of the pernicious influence of her favorite gesture, released Joplin, but kept her hands on the girl's shoulders like a vise. "Give him a chance. He'll surprise you."

"Jack doesn't think so."

"Rule number—is it three?—rule number possibly three: Don't believe what you're told. Double check." Abby tried again, looking over the teenager's mass of brown curls at the threshold of the lab, which now held a smirking Tony. Abby smiled back. "Tony doesn't give up on his people, kid. Including the people he grew from scratch."

Tony figured it was time to intervene before Abby's perpetual need to nurture started writing out checks his ears couldn't cash.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on her, Abs."

"Twas no problemo."

"So, Ms. Sullivan, what do you say we blow this joint?"

"Oh, that was just _too _easy," she smirked, bouncing off in the direction of the elevator. "Nice meeting you, Abby."

Abby arched her brow. "Apparently, it's genetic."

* * *

"I gotta wrap up a few things. You can wait in the car if you want. Space sixteen, the guard at the front desk'll show you the way."

"Sure, car sounds good."

"Nice catch," he smiled when the keys effortlessly connected with her palms.

She nodded and scooped up her suitcase, whistling a Grateful Dead tune as she tossed the keys in the air on her way to the elevator.

"Ziva," Tony tiptoed over to his partner's desk and dug his nails into her shoulder. "Don't leave me alone with her!"

Ziva rolled her eyes and continued typing as she spoke. "Tony, she is a teenager not a serial killer."

"Don't you watch Lifetime? It's always the hormonal girls who end up sneaking into their parents' rooms and bludgeoning them to death with meat cleavers. Please Ziva," he squeezed harder. "I just wanna live!"

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," she slapped his hand away. "The two of you will be just fine."

"At least come for dinner. I'll cook!"

"Why do I find that to be cruel and unusual punishment?"

"Zee-vah, you know rule number one supersedes all others."

"There are no suspects to keep together."

"No, the _other_ rule number one: never screw over your partner."

She glared at him, but grabbed her coat nonetheless. "If it is not edible I will be forced to castrate you and turn your family rocks into pâté."

* * *

"You two are going to rot in front of that television," Ziva declared as she walked back into the living room to find Tony and Joplin swearing at the screen and complaining about the arrogant, blind pack of retards commonly referred to as referees. "I take it a bad call was made."

"Damn straight," Joplin sat her bowl on the couch, speckles of marinara sauce assaulting Tony's one of a kind and expensive couch. "It was a flagrant fowl all day long. Either that man's on more drugs than Tommy Chong or he's a cheating piece of crap. Whatever he is, Carmelo should be at the line."

Ziva shook her head and plopped down on the couch, handing Tony the paper towel he was too lazy to retrieve on his own. "Do you play basketball, Joplin?"

"Since I was eight. Point guard," she shrugged and took a swig of soda. She let out a satisfied "ahh" and slouched further against the fluffy cushions. "I was on the varsity team at Cedar Breaks before I had to move."

Tony glanced at her over the bowl he was holding up to his face. "Why'd you have to move?"

"Apparently I outgrow welcomes faster than clothes," she yawned a little and stretched her arms. "So, uh, can I hit the sheets Mr. DiNozzo?

"Joplin, until the day I'm soaked in Ben-Gay and drooling on the armrest of my wheelchair, don't call me Mr. DiNozzo," he declared, waving his fork like a magic wand. A few droplets of sauce splattered onto Ziva's cheek, which earned him a death glare. "Need any help unpacking?"

"I'm straight, thanks _Tony_," she laughed. "Nice meeting you, Ziva. Night."

* * *

"See, that was not so terrible."

"She was just afraid of leaving witnesses," Tony handed Ziva a beer and she gratefully excepted it, tapping the bottom of the green bottle as she rode out the sharp sensation in her throat. As she sat it down on the counter, he narrowed his eyes. "This won't work."

"Give it a chance, Tony."

"Everybody keeps saying that," he placed his own bottle on the granite counter and began twisting the cap in a circle. "I just don't see myself coming down with a raging case of paternal obligation any time soon."

"It is too late now," Ziva shrugged and took another sip. "You are her father."

"On paper. Maybe I can talk Jack into taking her in."

She narrowed her eyes and flung herself away from the counter, sitting down her beer in the process. She busied herself with wiping the stove, a task she'd completed moments before.

He took the sponge out of her hand and sat it aside, then turned her to face him. Her eyes were harder and much older than he wanted them to be.

"What I say?"

"It's nothing."

He nodded. He wanted to reach for her, but he knew she wouldn't let him. She wasn't one to need coddling.

They were alike in that way.

"Sometimes being there is all that matters, Tony."

He groaned. "Like I told Gibbs, the only thing I have to offer my daughter is distance. I might be her father, but I'm nobody's dad. I don't want to hurt the kid, but I don't want her living with me."

* * *

Joplin nodded and wrenched herself out of the corner, finding herself grateful she didn't unpack.

* * *

Dawn, the color of orange juice, poured through the curtains as Joplin opened her eyes and turned towards the window. She didn't know what time it was, just knew by the sturdy hint of light that it was early, that her alarm would sleep longer than she would.

She threw on her clothes from the previous day and pushed aside the curtains, removing the screen from the window.

* * *

Tony checked the clock, six thirty. He had to wake Joplin soon. She would have to tag along to with him to work. He didn't like the idea of bestowing full-blown autonomy, in his house, on a kid—on that kid in particular.

If she was really a child of his, the smell of sugar sweetened coffee and the caterwauls of Miles Davis' trumpet would guide her into the kitchen. He waited, mumbling the melody to the coffee pot as he poured himself a cup.

He waited twenty minutes.

Frowning, he trudged down the hall and pushed open her door.

Naturally the sight of an unmade bed and the open, screenless window was an unwelcomed surprise.

* * *

**Carver Residence **

**22 Dellwood Drive**

**Vienna, Virginia**

"Joplin?" Jack Carver arched his brow at the smiling girl on her doorstep. "What are you doing here?"

She bit her bottom lip, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right. "Good, I caught you."

"How'd you get here? What happened?"

"I need to move back in."

* * *


	7. How We Operate

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Seven: How We Operate

* * *

You're true.

You are.

I'd apologize, but it won't go very far.

Turn me inside out and upside down and try to see things my way.

Turn a new page, tear the old one out and I'll try to see things your way.

-How We Operate, Gomez, How We Operate

* * *

**Carver Residence**

**22 Dellwood Drive**

**Vienna, Virginia**

"Joplin?" Jack Carver arched his brow at the smiling girl on his doorstep. "What are you doing here?"

She bit her bottom lip, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right. "Good, I caught you."

"How'd you get here? What happened?"

"I need to move back in."

Jack glanced down at the wirily teenager on his doorstep and arched his brow. He watched the girl push her glasses up on her freckle-infested nose and inch her face closer to his, inspecting him like a passport.

Tony could teach a graduate class on screwing up, but it had barely been a day!

"I know this is short notice, but I was kinda hoping you'd let me in."

The walk from the hallway to the living room was a short one. Joplin filled the entire journey with conversation and Jack found himself resenting the unfortunate fact that she'd inherited her father's knack for speaking while saying absolutely nothing.

"Joplin? What are you doing here?" Wendy Carver questioned from the carpet she was scrubbing like a scullery maid on speed. "How'd you get here?"

"Hello Wendy, nice to see you too."

"Hello Joplin, why are you here?"

"What happened to your rug?"

"Bridget has the flu. Planning on answering my question?"

"Ah, one of the many reasons why I despise school. You go and then come down with something that has you projectile puking like Linda Blair in The Exorcist," Joplin kicked off her ravaged pair of black Chucks and made herself comfortable on the Carver's couch, feet up on the cluttered coffee table. "As for your question, I took the metro and I'm here because I've got nowhere else to go."

Jack smiled, ruffling her unruly curls. "You've got Tony."

"Surely you jest?" Joplin quipped, genuinely amused. She paused when she noticed he was not. "You're serious? He doesn't want me around. He made that very clear from the beginning Jack, but your rose colored glasses blurred the flashing 'I don't want a kid' sign on his forehead."

"To give the man credit, he was ambushed. His life changed without his consent. I'm sure you know what that's like."

"It's not the same, Wendy! His head's so big it has its own gravitational pull. The last thing he wants is to be responsible for the caring and feeding of anybody but himself."

"I'm sure he didn't say that," Wendy spurned, resting a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Yeah, well he did. I heard him. He told his partner he had no interest in being my father and I'm not bedding down where I'm unwelcome, so I thought I could stay here."

"What about Cedar Breaks? I'm sure you could work something out."

"Jack didn't tell you? I'm hooligan non grata around those parts."

"I wouldn't go that far," Jack chuckled from the armchair he was leaning on.

"Did you give them a reason?"

Joplin dealt Jack's wife a frown. "Besides breathing?" she smirked sheepishly. "Well," she amended at the blonde's pointed look. "Maybe."

Jack exchanged eyerolls with his wife and took a deep breath. "Care to elaborate?"

"Okay, so maybe I ran away a few—" she blushed. "—too many times. And I may have put some chocolate flavored laxative in my biology teacher's daily mocha but she was ruining my life! I mean, she kept ratting me out to my coach, you know about my grades and since she had verbal diarrhea, I figured she'd like her bottom half to match."

"Aren't you the same girl who told me you'd done a lot of growing up over the summer?" Wendy asked, slapping her hands down by her side.

"Would you let me stay if I said yes?"

"Joplin..."

"Wendy, he doesn't want me. Fine. I'll live. Maybe I'll even—invest in therapy!—if the sting of his rejection should start to swell when I grow up and can't love. Right now, I need a place to live. Are you gonna help me or not?"

"You're family and we love you, of course you can..."

"Joplin, I'm sure you haven't had breakfast yet. There are some peach pancakes in the oven. Why don't you get the kids up and you guys eat while Jack and I try to sort everything out."

"Thanks you guys," she smiled, disengaging herself from the couch and the conversation.

"What was that all about?" Jack asked, once she was up the stairs and out of earshot.

"I love the girl, really I do, but I know when two ends are being played against the middle.

"You heard her..."

"...and my heart goes out to her, but she needs to be with her father and as much as it bothers you, you're not him. I understand, I do. You couldn't save Carly so you're saving her daughter."

"I can't turn my back on her."

"I'm not asking you to. What I _am_ asking is for you to step aside. This is for her own good, Jack."

* * *

Why he called Ziva David, he'd never know.

She was judgmental, scathingly blunt, and she was wearing a hole in his new carpet with her pacing.

It was, after all, _his_ kid that was wandering the barely lit streets. Why was she stalking around his living room like Groucho Marx?

It was _his_ girl child that was alone in the wee hours of the morning, mingling amongst the dregs of humanity.

Oh, that was why.

He leapt up from his couch and joined her. Left and right, like a father outside a delivery room.

He frowned, remembering he hadn't even been there when she was born. It was annoyingly surprising how much that bothered him.

They paced in silence, only stopping for the ringing of her cell phone.

"Got something?" Ziva paused for the reply. "Thanks, McGee." She flipped her phone shut, opting to remain still. "A security camera caught Joplin exiting Vienna/Fairfax station an nearly two hours ago."

She'd been rudely awakened by a semi frantic, yet cavalier Anthony DiNozzo. She surprised them both when she invited herself into the situation, offering her help and listening ear.

Not that she had much to listen to, as Tony had been uncharacteristically silent since she showed up on his doorstep with coffee and bagels.

They allowed themselves to marinate in silence though it seemed awkward. Neither of them seemed comfortable in the intimate climate of Tony's home life. However, Ziva found herself, at the risk of sounding like a romance novel, honored that he would allow her near something he'd usually keep close to the vest.

"Who is in Vienna?"

"Jack," he chuckled, lowering his chin a bit. "I could've saved you the BOLO."A sheepish, lazy smile lifted the corners of his lips. "She was gone before I woke up. Stealthy and resourceful. Good for an agent, bad for a teenager with a chip on her shoulder the size of Uruguay."

"She is testing the boundaries and she is testing you. You need to show her that such indiscretions will not be tolerated and that you care about her enough to make them unnecessary."

"Do you have a subscription to Parents' Monthly I don't know about?"

She rolled her eyes. "You called me."

"To vent, not for Parenting 101."

"You are her father, Tony. Does that not mean anything to you?"

Yes, it meant something to him.

A father was a supporting actor in the role of continuous caregiver, siphoning off the lead to various nannies and prep schools.

Keeping her around was crueler than rejecting her. She'd get her hopes up. He'd screw up and be added to the barnyard full of adults who'd left her in their dust.

Some people have no business being parents. If his father taught him anything, it was that.

She deserved better than repeated histories and uncertain futures.

He didn't tell Ziva any of that, of course. He just sipped his coffee and focused on the black screen of his television.

"I'll tell Gibbs you are going to be late."

He took another sip and continued to stare over the rim of his cup. "She's better off there—"

"You have many shortcomings," she frowned, lowering her eyes to his crotch. "Some more unfortunate than others, but I never thought being a coward was among your grocery list of flaws."

A shower of laughter smacked her face as she watched him stretch and turn to face her. That stupid smirk of his. Every time she saw it she was blatantly reminded that he was still eight years old.

"First of all, Sugar, it's _laundry_ list!" he sat his cup down and leaned dangerously into her personal space. Slowly and deliberately, he slid his hand up on her cheek, stepping obscenely into her personal space. He brushed her hair away from her ear and pressed his mouth against her lobe. With a whisper's breath of air separating his lips from her ear, his coffee flavored breath waltzed across his tongue. "And I may be a deeply flawed, but devilishly handsome hunk-o-man—in many areas, but I'm no coward."

She lowered her eyes, pricking his skin as he slowly decided where to settle them. She shoved his face away, licking her lips as she designed her response. "You are so busy trying to avoid your father's legacy that you have missed the wrong turn you've taken down his path."

Tony stared at her, opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it and shrugged. His face went still as granite, his green eyes darkened to a cold black, alive with pain.

She absently began fiddling with the candleholders on his coffee table, leading them to each other before abruptly breaking them apart. "Be advised, you cannot hide under your umbrella forever. Standing in the rain and expecting not to get wet is as ridiculous as it is impossible."

They were silent for a time. Both weighing their worlds and the choices they had made in them. Their minds flipped to various results and even more maybes. They remembered a time when life was easy. They both were so skeptical that they didn't bother to wonder if easy would ever come back.

After awhile, Tony allowed a microscopic smile to slip through the cracks. "I should've brought the Ben and Jerry's and the Alanis Morissette to this pity party."

Ziva's response died on her tongue when Tony's cell phone howled from his pocket, loudly announcing the incoming call. He frowned at the unknown string of digits.

"Hello? Top of the morning to ya Jack. She's there? Make sure she stays. I need a favor...oh get your tampon out of a bunch and listen, it's going to go against every instinct you have, but if she asks about moving in, I want you to turn her down."

* * *

"I still can't believe he wants us to turn her away!"

An hour later, Jack Carver was pacing his living room in a fractious fog, squeezing his phone like a stress ball. "It's just like him to make the mess and hand us the broom to sweep it under the rug."

"We're not abandoning her, Jack. We're sending her back to her father's house and by the looks of it, he's come to his senses."

"That man doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Never has. I told Rodney not to get him involved," Jack sighed, fiddling with his cufflinks. "I don't see how we can't let her stay."

"And I don't see how we can. She needs guidance, she needs supervision, and between taking care of the kids and the amount of hours we both put in, she wouldn't have either. And not to mention she would have way too much unsupervised time on her hands and we both know what that leads to."

"Wendy, Bridget says she won't eat her pancakes unless you cut them up. I tried, but wailing toddlers are a phobia of mine," Joplin leaned against the threshold separating the hallway from the living room, arms shoved against her chest. "So, has the jury reached a verdict?"

Husband and wife tossed the ball around the court before Jack decided to take the shot. "Joplin, moving in with us just wouldn't work."

"Okay," was all she could manage. Rejection was becoming the melody of the somber tune that decided to take over her life. Singing along wouldn't change the track. Instead, she scrubbed her face with her hands and tried another dance. "Fine, no big deal. New plan: Jack, you still have temporary custody of me. Convince Cedar Breaks to take me back. You can tell them I've seen the error of my ways or something of equal apologetic value. All I know is, I can't go to another foster home."

"That won't be necessary."

They turned around to find Anthony DiNozzo, dressed in his standard suit worth the average man's car down payment and good shoes and better sunglasses, choking the door frame.

"I didn't expect you to actually show up, much less knock."

"Never expected, Jack. Always inevitable," he removed his glasses and rolled his shoulders. Grinning, he pulled back his lips and exposed a full spread of white teeth. "Lovely home you have, Wendy."

She rolled her eyes, but accepted the kiss he planted on her cheek. "Thanks, Tony."

"Well, kid," he tugged at his ear. "Say goodbye to the lawyer and the lovely lady. Time click your to heels Dorothy, we're going home."

Joplin glared at him with something easing toward pure hatred. Which wasn't surprising, at least not to Tony. Teenagers probably hated air, only tolerating it because it kept them alive.

"Home? Right. Look, I'd rather eat cat shit with a knitting needle than live under your over decorated roof."

"Joplin! language!" Wendy admonished.

"For the record, a very talented interior decorator lent her services..."

"Oh, I'm sure _he_ did."

Tony narrowed his eyes and shuffled his loafers, obviously taking his time in responding.

She wasn't going to make this easy.

He shouldn't have been surprised.

Few things in his life were uncomplicated and unchallenging. They could be biddable on a good day, but never easy.

He wondered if they had that in common.

"This isn't a debate. You're not going back to Cedar Breaks."

"Well it's either that or a tent under the overpass because I'm not going to foster care and I'm not going with you and you're right, it isn't up for debate. I'm a ward of the state under the care of my legal guardian's attorney and the state of Maryland, which means they get to decide if I can go to Cedar Breaks or live with the Village People and you can take a bullet train to hell if you've got a problem with that."

The three adults jumped as the sound of the back door slamming vibrated along the walls.

"I'll talk to her."

"The Village People are back?" Tony drug up his brow and helped himself to a seat on the couch, watching as Wendy moved for the backdoor.

"You just proved her point. You're not interested in her so what's the problem with her going back to school?"

"My boss was right, never involve lawyers."

He chuckled. "Never thought I'd say this, but you were right. It didn't work. Cedar Breaks might actually do her some good."

"And I'd never thought I'd say _this_: I'm her father. I might be the lousy hand she got, but I'm the lousy hand she's gonna have to play."

* * *

Wendy found Joplin in the driveway shooting jump shots, the steam from her mumbled words snaking into the frigid air.

"Joplin?" she called out tentatively. "That didn't go so well."

"Things rarely do on Planet Sullivan. Sorry to drag you guys into orbit," she fired off another shot, growling when she missed it.

"He's making an effort."

"Am I supposed to fall on my knees and kiss his overpriced loafers?"

"Better late than never, right?"

"That's what I told myself when Jack told me he was forcing me on the guy," she crossed the ball under her legs and went for a layup. "That was on me. Should've known better."

"He made a mistake. We all do."

"And? I don't trust him. He doesn't want me. He just doesn't want social services or Cedar Breaks to have me. If you and Jack had the room, believe me, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I know this is difficult..."

"Actually, I'm used to it," she shrugged and took another shot. "People leave. That doesn't matter. I'm just sick of being a hand me down kid, the problem that's passed along each time I've worn out a welcome."

* * *

Thick droplets of melted snow bounced off of the roof and onto his face before joining their brethren in the puddles on the concrete.

When Tony DiNozzo stumbled down the stairs into two familiar green eyes, he wished he hadn't.

He'd seen that face before: the malicious blade of a smirk, the hardened eyes and years worth of defense mechanisms scattered into place like a revolutionary brigade.

It was strange, seeing his past in his child who'd grown up before he knew she was alive.

His daughter hated him the way he hated his own father.

It wasn't a huge surprise, really. Why shouldn't she hate him? He'd made it abundantly clear how much of a burden she was. He'd made her feel unworthy and unloved. He scoffed, maybe it was genetic, a disease in his blood.

He could cure them both, the way Gibbs cured him.

It lived in everything Gibbs did. He loved Tony like a son.

That scared him sometimes, but the feeling was mutual and although love was not something Tony understood, he cherished loyalty. Loyal men didn't leave people behind. Gibbs had many opportunities to box him up and demand a refund, but that wasn't the man Gibbs was.

He wasn't Gibbs, but he wouldn't leave his kid behind.

He picked up the ball and dribbled. He took a shot, smiling as fond memories were ignited by the swoosh of the ball colliding with the net.

"You're not a hand me down." He turned to her, holding onto her gaze.

She fixed him with a glare that would've shattered his resolve if he were a lesser man.

"Look, if you're waiting to hear some sugary speech with a lot of regrets and apologies, you're going to be disappointed because that's not me. I can't change what's already happened. I can only work on now. And I can't do that alone. I'll need your help."

Her eyes defrosted and she folded her arms in front of her chest, suddenly feeling the effects of marinating in the winter air. "So I'm just supposed to instantly believe that you want me around?"

"It would be preferable, but I know I'm gonna have to prove it to ya. So, what do you say kid? You in or not?"

She stared at the hand he held out, looking between it and Wendy Carver. Grinning, she smacked his palm as hard as she could. "I'm in. Keep in mind, you put in the quarter and you're getting the whole song."

Tony wrapped his jacket around her shoulder and gave her an encouraging push toward the back stairs. "This time I'm listening."

* * *

**The author speaks: **I was a little insecure about this chapter for some reason. Apparently that happens to writers.

So! I've actually got this plot planned pretty far ahead, which is very fabulous considering my scattered noggin. With that in mind, updates will be somewhat frequent.

The playlist has been updated, by the way. Have a listen!

Anyhow, thanks for the encouraging feedback. Keeps my motivation and my muse oiled.


	8. Noticed

**Speech Section:** Thanks for the reviews, support, subscriptions, and for favoriting. You all are so kind and encouraging! :)

**Update: **I revised this chapter as some words were omitted due to formatting issues. :)

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Eight: Noticed

* * *

In the strangest fashion you start a chain reaction.

When you look my way something's pounding away.

And all this time, oblivious to what you make so obvious

I can't believe I never noticed my heart before.

You and your ways capture what I've misplaced in the perfect fashion.

Just watch my heart's reaction.

This point of view is nothing that I'm used to, but I won't close my eyes cause they're on to you.

And all this time, it was staring me blind.

I can't believe I never noticed my heart before...

Noticed, Mute Math, Mutemath

* * *

Tony returned to the bullpen later that afternoon and found Ziva staring at his desk, her face whisked into a pensive frown, as if the meaning of life was stalking around in the piles of papers he forgot to clean up before he left.

He stopped short of the barrier that announced Team Gibbs' section of the bullpen, watching curiously as she stood and marched over to his desk. She moved the files and his rubber band collection cautiously, like a cop looking for contraband, and then with a sudden burst of ire, she rifled through his drawers and everything else her pretty prying paws could pet.

"Does inappropriate touching constitute molesting my personal belongings?"

She didn't even have the grace to look guilty.

He was rubbing off on her. He made a note to tease her about that in the very near future.

"I really _am_ rubbing off on you. You actually believe our partnership entitles you access to my desk," he quipped, stepping into the door leading to the very near future.

"That is a mute point to be debated at another time."

"_Moot _point."

She narrowed her eyes. "That is what I said."

"No, you said..."

"Oh will you shut up!" she hissed, pushing herself away from his desk and closer to her own. "I have your attention, yes?"

He stopped, sat down and looked at her. There was curiosity, and annoyance. She was getting somewhere.

"No, the naga-licious lecture you're about to give has me rather...flat."

She rolled her eyes. "Have the results come in yet?"

Tony pulled back his lips and exposed a full spread of white teeth, brutally assaulting her retinas. "I told you, McGee's gonna be a pappy and Joplin's gonna have a Guinness World Records worthy half sibling."

"Tony!"

"You're worried about me? Zee-vah! You like me, you _really_ like me!"

She was worried and she hated herself for it. Ziva David did not worry about men with clothes that had "This Season" stitched across the collar with shoes better than hers to go with them.

At least she didn't until the calendar model of an agent decided to scale her emotional wall.

She wrung her hands and closed her eyes and when she opened them, he was watching her, smirking as he loaded hollow points into his "torture Ziva" gun.

"Does your daughter know?" she asked, knocking off his aim.

The smile dimmed, but he didn't flick it off. "Close the door to my personal life on your way out."

"If something is wrong, you should tell her."

"So you can pump her for information? Nuh-oh thank you."

"I barely see her!"

"Speaking of my girl child, excuse me while I check on the state of my abode."

He picked up the phone and punched in his home number, only to be met by several rings and his own seductive, yet sophisticated answering machine.

He loved the sound of his own voice, yes, but when he heard the sonorous song of his vocal pattern for the sixth time, he found himself upset.

"Maybe she went out for a snack."

"She's supposed to call before she leaves."

"Why not get her a cell phone?"

"So she can run up a text message bill the size of Gibbs' coffee habit? Riiiight."

"So you can track her."

He groaned and draped his trench coat over his head. "Women should come with guidebooks, with at least four chapters dedicated to teenagers."

"For once, I agree with you."

"Boss!" Tony shot to his feet and all but saluted as a blur that closely resembled Gibbs whizzed passed his desk. The coat slid off Tony's head and congregated at his feet.

Gibbs just shook his head and sipped his coffee. He tossed the cup in the trash on his way to the elevator. "DiNozzo, with me."

"Mind if we make a quick stop, Boss?"

The back of his head stung.

Yup, he minded.

"Well," he tugged at his ear. "It's just, my daughter's missing."

* * *

Tony had been a single father for two weeks and he'd contemplated homicide and suicide and many other words possessing the –cide suffix. Any one would do as long as one or both of them was removed from the asylum that had become his now un-bachelor abode.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he stormed into his apartment, Joplin and Gibbs on his heels, and slammed his keys on the kitchen table. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm the director of this flick. My set, my rules. Regola numero quattro: never be unreachable."

He stalked over to the kitchen sink, in search of a glass of water, only to find a mound of water filled dishes. Narrowing his eyes, he conjured up a way to kill the child without leaving a shred of physical and traceable evidence—deleting her iTunes library, forgetting to pay the cable bill, burning a few basketball posters...

Filling his glass, the livid special agent glared at the little hellion over the rim of it. "I asked you a question."

"Technically, those are Gibbs' rules and I can take care of myself. I don't need you tailing me like I'm one of the dirt bags you chase," she snapped.

"Hey! Don't use that tone with me," he said, smacking on the voice he reserved for dirt bags who used that tone with him. "The rules in this house are like a deck of cards, Kiddo. Deal with them." Tony snapped and started pacing like a drill sergeant inspecting a line of rusty cadets.

Glancing defiantly between her old man and the older one he came with, she shrugged, deciding to plop down on the couch and comb the evening news for basketball scores.

"Guess Abby's back on Joplin guard."

That got a laugh out of the teenager. She was grinning so hard her eyes turned to bright slits. "Come on, I was shooting hoops not heroin."

Crossing the room, Tony snatched the remote and hauled the girl to her feet. "Let's go."

Gibbs, who had been silent during their little family discussion, could feel the headache rally its forces behind his eyes and slowly, it commandeered his skull. Groaning, he rubbed his temple and breathed, all the while keeping his eyes on Tony's arrogant little offspring.

He could really use a cup of coffee—a very strong cup of coffee to wash down a hand full of aspirin, not to mention a stiff drink.

Gibbs laughed, stirring a reaction in Tony. The younger man stiffened, severing his breath. He fiddled with the remote, darting his eyes between his boss and daughter.

Joplin edged her neck around and read the situation like an x-ray—and grimaced at the fracture in the conversation.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" Gibbs laughed again. His blue eyes sharpened on her and he twisted them, managing to squeeze out the reaction he expected. She paled at the desert eagles disguised as eyes fired off two warning shots and she took a few steps back.

In the dark, frigid voice that made him who he was, Gibbs twisted the knife. "Abby almost died today, as did a Navy Lieutenant. You wanna provoke your dad just so he can notice you? Fine. That's his problem, but when you take my best agent away from my investigation: you become my problem and the last thing you want is for me to solve it."

Gibbs had encountered very little of Tony's newfound daughter in the two weeks she'd been living with him, but in the borrowed time the agent spent with her, Joplin reminded him of her father. Beyond the sarcasm and razor sharp wit, Joplin was compassionate and caring—sensitive even. She kept her emotions tucked in with her basketball jersey and she was relatively easy going—until she snapped.

Her eyes flashed and went out. Wringing her hands, she cocked her head and stared at her father. "You were worried about me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Side effect of parenthood."

"Why didn't you just say that?"

Tony grinned sheepishly. "Just did."

She stretched, moved passed him, and glanced nervously at Gibbs. "I'm sorry about the Lieutenant and I'm glad Abby's okay. Sorry I didn't call."

The blue eyes appraised her and the lips twitched into a smirk. "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness." He frowned at Tony. "Don't make this a habit, DiNozzo."

"Won't dream of it, Boss."

"Wasn't talking to you," he stepped out the door.

Two identical frowns formed at the connection.

"I'll remember that rule when I steal your car and wrap it around a pole," she said, easing her winter coat over her shoulders.

Tony clasped her shoulder and squeeze, ushering her out the door. "Rule number eight, Grasshopper: Never take anything for granted—that includes your life."

* * *

"Guess who gets to babysit Joplin?"

Abby looked away from the fiber she was diligently analyzing to the frowning teenager and a very desperate DiNozzo. Waving at the pair, though she was happier to see the Caf-Pow! in Tony's hand, she beckoned then to enter with a cheery smile.

"Since when do you need a babysitter?" Abby liberated the agent of her liquid lover and took an adrenalized sip before ruffling Joplin's curls.

"Since I had to beg Gibbs to stop by my place so I could check on her."

Abby grimaced. "Not good, DiNozzo descendant. Not good at all."

"If we're about to spark up another round of 'lecture Joplin', would you be offended if I benched myself?"

Tony and Abby exchanged looks before he excused himself, issuing an order for his kid to behave on his way to the elevator.

The two were silent as Joplin roamed around the lab, her fingers just about to make friends with one of Abby's beloved babies when the husky voice startled them back to her sides. "Those who value their intricate, prehensile body parts keep them off my babies."

"My what?"

Abby waved her hands theatrically.

"Oh. When the you say it all scientifically it brings a Hannibal touch to it," Joplin swallowed, leaning against the glass doors leading to the office. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, not after the day you've had."

"More importantly, your dad was worried."

"I know, but the guy barely lets me take out the trash. Basketball's the only thing keeping me on my feet. He can't take that away from me."

"He isn't trying to. Look kid," she sat her cup by her keyboard and narrowed her eyes. "Tony, well, he's like a brother to me do I'm well versed in Tony-ness. Sure he can be difficult and annoying and arrogant and ridiculous and many other unflattering adjectives, but T-man's complicated and he's got good reason to be."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Nope, not my story to tell."

"That's never stopped you before..."

"Silence! So Tony, complicated and flawed, but very loyal and oddly loving. He doesn't love easily or often and he isn't all that good at it."

Joplin scoffed. "I've been in his life fourteen days, Abby. Tony might be a fool, but he doesn't rush in."

"You're right, like I told you before, give him a chance before you write him off. He's a great guy to have in your corner and once you're in, you stay."

She shrugged. "We'll see. And since you're a fountain of wisdom today—Gibbs, how do I get on his good side?"

"There's no Gibbs for Dummies. You do or you don't."

She nodded and shrugged again. "The guy doesn't like me very much."

"You haven't exactly modeled your endearing qualities there, Sport. Besides, Gibbs _loves_ me and if you stop trying to freak out your pops, I'll teach you the secrets to surviving Gibbs and your dad," she held out a palm and smiled. "Yay or nay?"

She nodded again and returned the smile, and ultimately, the handshake. "Yay."

* * *

A few hours later, Abby's penchant for pep talks had gone out. Gibbs had given her the task of disemboweling her four wheeled-almost murderer. She and McGee and the really cute mechanic dude were determined to solve the mystery and the meddlesome chip off the old meddlesome block would only put a damper on their goal.

She stepped off of the elevator into a quiet, calm bullpen. The dimly lit room seemed almost serene. Ziva seemed to be taking advantage of the rare moment of tranquility, working diligently at her desk.

Tony had come down to the lab earlier with another Caf-Pow! for Abby and a really good Sandwich for Joplin, mumbling something about medical test results and Ziva giving her a ride home.

"Hi Ziva."

"Joplin," Ziva barely glanced up from the monitor to smile up at her. "Why are you not with Abby?"

She smirked, picking up a paperclip and bending it until it was unrecognizable. "I got the boot. They're still working on the car. Too bad, McGee was there."

"You have a crush on McGee, yes?" Ziva grinned, giving the girl's shoulder a shove.

She shrugged. "He's okay. My hormones are all over the place, though. I'm surprised I don't have a crush on you."

"Gibbs' rule number seven: always be specific when you lie."

"That dude has more rules than the English language!"

"A fact that I am slowly becoming aware of," she smiled and peaked over at the DiNozzo-less desk. "So, did your father give you any indication as to why he needed to undergo medical testing?"

Joplin frowned. "I just met the guy and besides, everything about me is a-morphin'. I can barely keep up with my bra size, let alone my sparkling new daddy's health problems."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Your Tony is showing."

She leaned against Ziva's desk, scrunching up her nose. "What's y-pestis?"

Ziva nervously switched off the monitor and decided to offer a hearty meal on her dime.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I am aware of that."

"So, why don't you?"

"Because it is related to the case and I am not allowed to discuss it with you."

"You're lying."

Ziva's eyes widened as she snuck a glance at the black screen. Joplin hung her head and burned a hole through the carpet as she rubbed her jaw like she'd said too much.

"That was rude."

"Very, but do not worry about it," Ziva said, plastering on a reassuring smile for good measure.

"Did that have anything to do with Tony?" her voice was seized by a spirit of interest and she swept the woman over. However, she seemed to sense she wasn't going to get any place, tonight anyway.

When Ziva remained silent, she sighed and headed in the direction of the elevator. She stopped a few feet away and turned around, her classic smirk set firmly in place. "I didn't turn down that meal."

Chuckling, Ziva shut down her workstation and moved toward the elevator.

* * *

Joplin was used to inattentive parents.

Uncle Rodney worked long hours doing whatever college educated professional criminals did to bring home the embezzled bacon. He tried, but he was a Sullivan therefore genetically impaired in the parenting department.

Carly Sullivan didn't believe in frivolous things like responsibility and goodbyes. Joplin had only heard from her mother in the six years she'd been absent. It was just a twenty-second message saying she'd made it home. Don't call because naturally she would call later.

The problem with adults, Joplin noticed, later rarely, if ever, came.

So, she wasn't surprised when Tony wasn't home when Ziva dropped her off.

She wasn't even bothered.

Despite their previous breakdown in communication, Tony, in his unique way, was really trying.

He cooked dinner, called to make sure she was at home, he rented movies and popped popcorn to match, and he even began researching schools in the area.

They still remained guarded around each other, formal even. She helped with the dishes after dinner, obeyed the rules she agreed with, and they both seemed allergic to below the surface conversation.

He was a textbook parent: food, clothes, repetitive advice in the form of movie quotes.

She just remained on guard and kept a suitcase in her closet.

It was only a matter of time. It always was when she lived with strangers.

However, that didn't stop her from visiting the all-knowing Google as soon as she busted through the door.

It didn't stop her from worrying about her father.

* * *

"Computer time's over, kid. Sleep, now."

"Oh come on, it's only ten and you just got home." Joplin whined, releasing her grip on Tony's personal laptop nonetheless. She tucked her arms under her vintage, rainbow colored Denver Nuggets comforter. "Why are you so late, anyway?"

"Blood work, hospital's swamped. Now, be quiet and sleep. A study says kids your age need at least eight hours of shut eye in order to stay on the planet."

"Wow, you're really taking this Daddy DiNozzo thing seriously," she rolled her eyes and groaned. "And stop grinning."

"You're never fully dressed without a smile. Ya know, I really liked the '82 flick. Carol Burnett's Ms. Hannigan was amazing, very nuanced. Funny, yet complicated. Not a bad singer, either. She was a red head too. Gibbs would've liked her..."

"Wow, _so_ don't wanna know about your boss' preference in women, "she brought the sleeve of her thermal pajama top up to her mouth and began chewing. "Hey, Tony, you'd tell me if something was wrong right?"

He frowned. "Are you gonna get mushy on me?"

"It's called your inner-child for a reason." She scoffed. "Anyway, you'd tell me, right? Because that worrying thing, it's kinda contagious." She narrowed her eyes and kept them trained on her dresser. She was too afraid to look into his face, terrified of what she might find there.

He surprised her when his eyes softened and surprised himself when he reached over and swiped a few stray curls from her face. "I've got a million things wrong with me kid, but I'll never lie to you about them. Medically, I'm healthy as tofu chicken nuggets."

"Why do they call them tofu chicken nuggets, anyway? Soybeans don't have chicken or nuggets."

"Chickens don't have nuggets either."

"Oh, yeah," she conceded and eased onto her mountain of pillows. "Night."

Tony tucked the laptop under his arm and moved for the door, flicking off the light on his way out.

Joplin shot up like a cork, bubbling and spilling out a litany of reasons as to why the light needed to remain on.

The agent leaned against the doorframe, arms folded and brows hovering slightly below his hairline. "I don't have stock in Pepco, Kid. The light stays off."

"Can't you turn it off on your way to the bathroom or something?"

There was something in her voice. Nothing on her face because she was good at that. She was her father's daughter after all. That voice, like the rise and fall of an emergency siren, spoke volumes and still managed to say nothing.

"Fine," he didn't push, just flipped the switch and closed the door.

* * *


	9. Trade Yourself In

**A word from the writing department: **Thanks for the reviews, subscriptions, and favorites. My inbox has become a ray of sunshine.

The playlist has been updated. Listen if you feel the urge. :)

**Spoilers** for the episode Suspicion.

-McGowen out.

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Nine: Trade Yourself In

* * *

Deal with me.

Don't even think about leaving yet.

I'm not a part of some false regret even though I believe in fables.

Come reset,

a part of life that you'd soon forget and maybe think about who you hurt in the process...

I don't think they know, that's my heart exposed From the fearing of the endless lies.

Trade yourself in for the perfect one.

No one needs to know that you feel you've been ruined.

Trade yourself in for diamond eyes.

Watch the stars collide as you're lifted from your burden.

- Trade Yourself In, Shinedown, Us and Them

* * *

Tony DiNardo was tired.

The film professor wiggled out of the vortex of sheets and comforters, and stretched his arms. Jeanne Benoit was still asleep, snoring gracefully as dawn's subdued light licked her face through the open curtains.

He got up, took a shower, and drank some coffee, careful not to wake her.

He sat on her couch and dissolved into the warm cushions. His muscles groaned as he brought the ceramic mug to his lips and back to the coffee table, from the table littered with images of various smiling faces and decorative statues, back to his mouth.

Tony thought seriously of jumping back into her bed, entwining their bodies like a jigsaw puzzle, and dreaming his white lie into reality.

Anthony DiNozzo tried to have sex two or three times a week, provided it could be arranged between stakeouts and paperwork and shootouts and other very special agent duties. Sex was his orgasmic oxygen and since it was also an excellent weight loss tool, it could be added to the strict fitness regimen NCIS demanded of its field agents.

His physical routine rarely involved monogamy or an over ninety-day commitment. Relationships were like vacations: he checked in, took in the sights, enjoyed the facilities, bedded down and checked out before having to incur extra emotional fees.

Sure, it was hasty, but he never missed the flight back to his comfort zone.

At least until Tony DiNardo went and fell in love with Jeanne Benoit.

Dr. Jeanne Benoit was passionate and alight with electric energy. Her trust in him was addictive as was her warped sense of humor. Her eyes were bright, startling even. Tall, she had the majestic, unrivaled pulchritude of the secret Victoria whispered across many a glossy page. The blue sky was in her eyes, midnight in her luxurious hair, the clouds in her pearly white smile—romance novel hot.

The film professor and the doctor.

The special agent and his mark.

Cliché, but reality nonetheless.

Everyday after work, Anthony DiNozzo stepped into a phone booth to morph into Tony DiNardo: the amorous, majestic, witty film professor.

Okay, maybe he didn't have to do those many turns in the phone booth. DiNozzo and DiNardo weren't exactly poles apart.

Well, DiNozzo did have enough emotional baggage to outfit the Washington Metropolitan Area's entire population for a decade and DiNardo did have a really bitchin' 67 Mustang GT.

Countries apart, maybe?

He was still sitting there, contemplating his disguised dynamic dual, pondering life, wishing his fantasy was the opposite, when DiNozzo's cell phone vibrated and danced across the glass coffee table.

He was on the fence, to answer or not to answer. It was out of the question. He'd answer because it was DiNozzo's job, the agent had a duty, and the job was the only aspect of reality in the situation.

The phone continued to dance, flopping around like a fish out of water. It stopped and DiNardo was relieved. The dance started up again and it went on for eons. Whoever it was obviously was lacking in the empathy department. He decided it was worth it to answer it just so he could pretend to have a choice in the matter.

"Bad time?"

DiNozzo smirked and rolled his eyes at the hint of irritation in his partner's voice. For a super sleeper spy, Ziva was quite impatient. "Lemme guess, my esteemed services are required?"

Ziva groaned. "So intuitive." The sarcasm eased from her voice and it took on a note of seriousness. "Abby has turned over a new branch in the case. Gibbs wants you to take a look."

He rubbed the remainder of sleep out of his eyes, remembering Tony DiNardo wasn't picky about colloquialisms and glanced at the clock. The green numbers flashed the time: a little after six.

He'd gotten too comfortable. That seemed to be a reoccurring mistake.

He glanced over his shoulder and through the bedroom's open door as he hung up with out a word.

Tony DiNardo stood up, stretched, planted a kiss on Jeanne's forehead before Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo exited stage left.

* * *

He fell in love with his job because it never slept.

It was always on, always breathing. The cases were fresh enough to give him a sense of individuality and the routine was old enough to give him the illusion of belonging.

Unfortunately when one marinated in the insomnia of an institution and its federal crimes, sleep became a privilege.

Anthony DiNozzo leaned against one of the lab's many tables, hoping the double shot of espresso in his hand would be enough to revivify him, as he watched his mistress of the dark drive a hearse through Ruby Rae's rudimentary forensic investigation.

He was shaken out of his stupor by the sting of an alabaster fist crashing into his arm. He smiled as Abby clasped her hand on his shoulder, the fluorescent lights of her lair making her paler than usual.

"I'm all ears, Abs," he pouted, rubbing his arm.

"Prove it."

"So, how do you live with the mother of all secrets?" he smirked triumphantly, flicking one of her pigtails.

She narrowed her eyes, but continued nonetheless. "You don't. It consumes you, it eats you like a cancer, from the inside. First there's the guilt, and then there's the excruciating urge to blab your secret even though you know it's gonna spell your doom. Have you gotten to that stage yet?"

"No...no!" he snickered. "It's a hypothetical situation we're talkin' about!"

"Still in the guilt stage, huh?" Abby squinted at the flashing neon "He Obviously Feels Guilty" sign flashing on her friend's forehead. She blinked and it disappeared. "And then you know, you can't take it anymore, it drives you insane, so you blab your secret to your best friend, or your mother, or your lover and it sets you free!"

His eyes brightened with hope. "It does?"

"Yeah! Of course you lose all your friends, and your family and maybe even your job depending on what the secret is, but yeah!"

"...great." he cringed as his assurance was assassinated.

His bad news call to Gibbs was done in a blur, as was every other task he'd managed to complete.

Abby's words hung above him like the moon; illuminating things he did not know were there. It was as if a hand from the future had shaken him, announcing the beginning of too many bad endings.

He hated being told what to do, even if the voice was one of reason.

* * *

Later that evening, Anthony DiNozzo drove home on auto pilot after Tony DiNardo's hospital parking lot rendition of _Strangers of the Night_, unaware of the trip, entering his apartment twenty minutes later to find Joplin Sullivan hunched over a steaming mug, poring over a book.

The kid looked like the poster child for teenage overachievers—blood-shot eyes, hair in a scraggly ponytail, books up to her eyelids.

He frowned at the scent of freshly brewed coffee. They ran out of the good stuff awhile ago so he was forced to drink instant in the morning. He blamed the lack of designer java on Joplin. She'd been pulling all nighters for days. Playing catch up, she'd said.

A month and some change had gone by since she'd moved in. The kid was mellowing out and was now only raising enough hell to be considered an average warm-blooded teenager, but sympathetic enough to stay out of real trouble. Joplin managed to shed her recalcitrant reprobate routine and had settled into the role of studious sportswoman since making the eighth grade basketball team the week before.

And even if they wanted to annoy each other into oblivion, they didn't see enough of one another to irritate the other into a pothole.

Their lives had become a choreographed separation since she'd started school. She was in class. He was at work. She had basketball practice. He was out with Jeanne. She was on a book binge. He was catching up on sleep after being chained to a desk. He was home. She was out at the park, spicing up her jump shot.

Separate, but together.

"Tell me you haven't been studying since you got here." He helped himself to a sip from her cup and ruffled her curls before sliding into the chair across from her.

She didn't even glance up. "So nice of you to come home and I haven't been studying since I got here."

"You lie like a dog."

"Woof."

He chuckled and loosened his tie. "How was school?"

Joplin found herself offering up a confrontation with a math teacher who had movie star looks.

Tony frowned, making a note never to tell her about his dalliance with his music teacher.

"Don't look at me like that. I said he had movie star looks, I didn't get a chance to say that movie star happened to be Bea Arthur."

He shivered, glad that high school was stashed with the rest of his bad memories of the 80s, amongst the mullets and Michael Bolton.

She tactfully left out the part about being hit on by several ninth graders. "Still not used to being an eighth grader in high school," was the better version.

"I wasn't so keen on that idea either, but they keep you separated right?"

"Oh yeah, they say it's to keep us from fraternizing, but it's more like to keep us from fornicating."

He scowled. "Maybe we should transfer you."

"Are you high? George Mason is made of win! It's one of the top rated schools in the area and the nation. They placed second in Newsweek! They've got one hell of a basketball team, too. Almost made it to the playoffs last season. I might as well have scholarship candidate tattooed on my forehead. There's no way I'm giving that up."

"You sound like the brochures I read. Do they make you sing them before class?"

Insert classic teenage eye roll here.

He helped himself to a tortilla chip from the assortment of study snacks she'd scattered about the table. "And for the record, I know I've been MIA..."

She shrugged. "No worries. You had a life long before Uncle Rodney and the gang added a new cast member to your biopic."

"That's no excuse."

"Well," she looked up and smiled. High-powered, Fourth of July fireworks style. "If you _really_ wanna make it up to me, you'll come to my first game in a few weeks."

He grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for...well, if a case doesn't throw a wrench in my plans."

She was still smiling, though the illumination had dimmed a bit. "Sure."

He nodded, lowering his eyes to the table. Smirking, he picked up her school ID. "Nice picture. You look like you've murdered three people."

"I guess I look more like Uncle Rodney than I thought."

He eased his eyes upward, carefully. He stared at the face across from him. Words were clearly necessary, but it was hard to decide which ones. "Wasn't what I meant," he settled on.

Joplin rubbed her chin. "I know."

Thick drops of rain sloshed against the window as they set in a thicker silence. "I didn't know your middle name was Rigby." Tony finally said out loud, his eyes on the laminated plastic in his hands. "As in Eleanor Rigby?"

"Joplin Rigby Sullivan," she shook her head, grinning as she lifted her cup to her lips. "Kinda makes you wish you stuck around long enough to name your kid, huh?" she washed down the bitter tone with a swig of coffee.

"Carly never told me you were a sweet child-o-mine," he shrugged. "Could've been worse. You could've been stuck with one of the many DiNozzo family monikers. Still can't believe she named you after a ballad of loneliness though, brilliant as it is."

Joplin crossed her legs and uncrossed them, narrowed her eyes and widened them. "Maybe she was a fortune teller."

"Or a music fan."

"I wouldn't know."

Tony cleared his throat. "Carly...she didn't raise you?"

She closed her book before standing up and walking to the window. She drew the pads of her fingers against the cool glass. "How much did Uncle Rodney tell you?"

"How much did Uncle Rodney tell _you_?" he returned.

She scoffed. "He was always good at being vague."

"She gave you up for adoption?"

He read her silence, frowning at its fine print.

She drew her hand threw her hair. "It's complicated."

"Someday I'll tell you about _my _childhood."

She jumped. He said it like he knew, like he knew what it was like.

A flash of raw pain dimmed his green eyes, but Tony sobered quickly.

It had been a long day, for both of them. She yawned as she felt the awkward hush encompass the room. She yawned as she tucked her books and binders back into her backpack, promising her father she'd get some sleep.

Tony nodded and as he watched her head for her room, he felt the sharp pang of guilt kick against his chest. For once ignorance was not a blissful city on the banks of denial.

* * *

When Tony woke up in the soft bosom of his couch, it was to the savage and artful screams of Jimi Hendrix's guitar. His mouth was dry and he was sure his breath was on the bad side of funky. He checked the clock on the cable box.

Six thirty. He must have dosed off during breakfast.

Joplin was up.

Jimi abruptly stopped strumming and Joplin emerged from her bedroom, swimming in his OSU t-shirt and her basketball shorts. Gliding like a perturbed ghost, she mumbled something he interpreted as 'good morning', plopped down on the couch, and began digging for her ancestors in Tony's forgotten bowl of cereal.

"You should be dressed." he gave her a onceover. "And why are you wearing my shirt?"

She shrugged. "Forgot to do my laundry. Studying like crazy, remember?"

"So you went through my drawers?"

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes at the pile of shirts and pants dripping from the plastic basket he just remembered throwing on the couch the night before. "As if you actually fold your clothes and put them away."

He stood up and stretched, glancing down at the valley of overwhelm that had become his living room. He clapped his hands together as if the sound marked the official start of the daily grind. "Finish eating and get dressed. I'll give you a ride."

"Sweet! Thirty extra minutes!" she had already dived headfirst into the digital cable.

Tony snatched the remote and hauled the girl to her feet. "Yeah, for breakfast...complete with your _own_ bowl."

"All right, you win," she groaned and aimed her spirit like saunter at the fracture in the wall most called a bathroom. "And when did you start caring about things like personal space and boundaries?"

"Since kids your age go to school and comeback with all sorts of paycheck shorting diseases."

Joplin let out a soft snicker at that. Soon after her lopsided grin faded and was replaced by a shadow of hurt. She leaned against the threshold of the bathroom door, eyes lost, as if she were searching the white walls of their apartment for words.

"Hey, what's troubling you, Grasshopper?" he asked, his voice laced with dramatic tranquility that would give granola eating yoga instructors everywhere a run for their money.

"It's Uncle Rodney's birthday."

Tony remained silent. DiNozzo rule number three: keep tongue away from Planet Sullivan without Joplin at the helm.

A lesson learned from the previous night.

"I can try to drive you up there this weekend."

"No," she said too quickly.

There was a strange look in her eye, like she'd lost something. He blinked and it was gone.

"I'll send him a card." She shrugged and vanished into the bathroom as Tony made another mental note.

* * *

I changed some things around in the episode, but I stayed within the storyline. The MOAS conversation is the real deal from, though. I just borrowed the dialogue.

Oh and George Mason High School really is an 8-12 high school located in the Washington Metropolitan Area and it really was featured in Newsweek. I don't own George Mason High School, Newsweek, or the Washington Metropolitan Area—neither of which I want, but I had to disclaim. :)

Hope you enjoyed. I'll try to keep the updates frequent.

And last, but certainly not least: Happy Independence Day.


	10. The Past and Pending

**The Scribe Says: **Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/subscribing! I appreciate all four genres of encouragement. :)

* * *

Held to the past, too aware of the pending.

Chill as the dawn breaks and finds us up for sale.

Enter the fog another low road descending away from the cold lust, your house and summertime.

Loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love...

- The Past and Pending, The Shins, Oh Inverted World

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Ten: The Past and Pending

* * *

Anthony DiNozzo arrived home to find Ziva David leaning against the wall of his apartment building as though she were the only thing holding the place up. The air sagged under the weight of the thick, cold rain as she stood impassively, arms folded and eyes empty.

"Stalking me now, Officer David?" he smirked, just as a bag slipped and fell, spilling onto the walkway and heaving food down the slick red brick.

She picked up a stray apple and held it to her brown eyes, inspecting it like a UN weapons official. "If I were going to torment a man with obsessive attention, it would not be you," she quipped, throwing back the bruised fruit.

"Pitty," he jiggled his keys. "So, if not to establish an intimate connection with me, what else brings you to my not so humble abode?"

Thunder scampered across the sky as the rain smacked and hollowed the sidewalk. She rubbed her arms. The friction brought the redness of warmth to her fingers and cheeks.

He wasn't going to invite her up. He didn't feel like company. He'd spent the day living a double life. Intense dishonesty was a debilitating job. He made a note to ask the director for emotional hazard pay.

"Armani no likey the elements, Zee-vah."

Suddenly she felt sickeningly vulnerable. She sniffled as smoke snaked into her nose.

Oh, her ego was aflame.

In case of emergency, break left and don't look back. He caught her before she could extinguish the conversation.

She didn't even bother to erase the pain. It was beautiful, her humanity. There was a part of him that wanted to make everything okay for her. That scared him and neither of them would care for what fear turned him into.

It was starting to rain harder and the storm was opening up a can of whup ass on her thin windbreaker. He invited her upstairs. They eased up the two flights quietly as the skies grumbled and hissed. The light outside his door flickered in time with the moaning breeze.

"Is your maid on vacation?" she teased, navigating around the basketball and piles of tennis shoes and other mounds of teenage droppings.

"Bora-Bora, actually," he draped his trench coat over the couch, launching a grin in her direction. "Second honeymoon, I think."

She trailed him into the kitchen. "Your indifference to housework is genetic, I see."

He frowned. "Since you can judge me and my chromosomes at work for free, I doubt you wasted a half a tank of gas to roast me in the comforts of my own kitchen. So, you want a beer? Tea?"

She ran her hand along the sink, straight faced. "I will settle for a friend."

He stepped forward, raised the empty mug in his hand in a mock salute and grinned, reaching for her shoulder. And in true Renée Zellweger fashion: "You had me at hello."

His words resonated so loudly that she shivered when pandemonium broke loose in her mind. Ziva coughed. "Tea is fine."

They took their tea in the living room. Joplin was out. He wasn't surprised.

"At least she is staying out of trouble."

"That's debatable. Most people run across the street to avoid trouble. My kid? She guns the gas and hopes trouble's smart enough to get out of dodge. I guess I can't fault her though. She got her wild edge from my side of the blanket."

"What about her mother's family? Her uncle's moral compass was not exactly pointing in the right direction."

He furrowed his brow and flashed a thin, dismal line of a smile. "The Sullivan family falls under the 'don't ask, shut up' policy around these parts."

Ziva just nodded and focused her attention on his living room's large window, watching the leaves pirouette in the hard winter breeze. Their stems tapped the glass, their brown bodies tickling the window like butterflies before gallivanting off into the approaching darkness.

He still wasn't sure why she'd come. To vent? To cry? To have her way with him? He doubted her visit had anything to do with the latter. There was vigilance stowed in those dark, unwavering eyes. However, there was a touch of warmth: a dull flame, guarded and rationed.

"So what seems to be the trouble milady?" He shifted his left leg over his right and rested his elbow on his knee. When she got in her one of he—moods—he knew it was best to let her get through it.

Ziva sipped gingerly. Her calmness was almost mechanical, her voice an absent murmur as she told him about the sister she'd lost so violently, so early. How quickly she volunteered for Mossad. How long before a girl finally stopped hiding under her big sister's eyelids and gave up smuggling guilt into her dreams.

"Today is the anniversary of that day."

Tony silently stood and moved for the kitchen. She frowned when she heard the microwave sing out two minutes later.

He returned, a grin curling his lips and a steaming bowl filling his palm.

"My soul bleeds all over your carpet and you offer me soup?" Ziva chuckled, flashing a lopsided smile as she relieved her friend of the liquid mystery. She inhaled the rich, calming scents of chicken broth and a spice medley—no doubt another secret he'd keep from her—before taking a sip.

"Chicken soup's good for the soul," he winked, rejoining her on the couch. "Just ask the authors of the Chicken Soup for the 'Insert Genre of Soul Here' books."

"You had this laying around?"

"Joplin was starting to come down with a bug. I made it for her, knocked it right out."

Rain continued its tap dance. Droplets littered the glass stage as Tony and Ziva soused in silence. "Thank you for listening," she said finally, placing her spoon in her now empty dish.

"Thanks for trusting me."

She hoped he'd return the favor. Maybe come down with a raging case of potty-mouth and spill the eggs, perhaps.

Or was it beans?

It was _definitely _blabbermouth. Potty-mouth meant—wait, that applied here too.

Why did she bother?

He could see her giving him the classic feminine 'trust is a two way street' stare and even if he wanted to succumb to Ziva David's powers, Director Shepherd had the trump card: her secret was a matter of national security and she signed his paychecks.

Redheaded director with a vendetta, one. Partner that was leaning dangerously close to a line a certain rule forbade them from crossing, zero.

Unfortunately she wore his favorite sweater, the one that sang the praises of her two chorus girls.

That _really_ wasn't helping.

As his green eyes brought a new meaning to facing the music, the landline was kind enough to ring. Tony flicked his eyes toward the caller ID. Joplin.

"Where are you?" his voice was surprisingly breathless.

"Gracious greetings to you too. You sound out of breath and you took too long to answer the phone. Eww, do I wanna know what I interrupted?"

"Ziva and I are having a meeting."

"Of your pelvises?"

The eye roll was in his voice. "Funny. May I help you?"

"Wow, you forgot. My game, you know the one I reminded you about two weeks ago, kinda sorta starts in thirty minutes. If you leave now, you'll be forgivablely late."

He exchanged glances with Ziva. "Ziva's..."

"Bring her! Just hurry up. Gotta run, warm ups and all."

"I totally blanked, Joplin's first home game starts in thirty. Promised her I'd represent. You can tag along if you want. She asked for you. Nothing like a good 'ol American pastime to numb the pain, I'd say"

She shrugged, pulling herself to her feet. "Could not hurt."

* * *

Pete's Pizza and Pints stepped into the limelight every once in awhile, when some yuppie IT consultant raved about it on Yelp or when there was a big show at the art gallery across the street, only to recede into its true colors: a neighborhood restaurant and watering hole people with no money and less hope fell into when life failed to dish out either.

However, the Italian food was authentic and the Pizza was fabulous. After the game the kid played, Tony figured Joplin deserved the best.

"I ordered the Moretti Lager," Ziva pointed at the bottle on the table when he returned from washing his hands. She frowned at the laminated menu. "I do not trust the wine."

"You found the key to my soul, good ol Italian suds," he grinned, making himself comfortable next to his kid.

"Actually, Heineken snagged the company like ten years ago," Joplin looked up from the Shirley Temple she was hovering over. "You're sippin' on Dutch suds now."

Tony frowned, exchanging a glance with Ziva. "Do I even wanna know how my thirteen year old knows so much about breweries and the big businesses who acquire them?"

Joplin twirled her straw, marveling as bubbles clustered around the black plastic. "My great uncle owned a microbrewery in San Francisco. I stayed with him and his family for a bit. I picked up a few things."

"Is it still in your family?" Ziva asked, picking at some calamari.

"Nope," she answered, thumbing through a memory that wasn't designed for display purposes. "Uncle Packie's doing ten years for racketeering. He lost it thanks to some guy named Rico."

Tony stifled a laugh. At least her mind was still innocent enough not to know what RICO actually stood for.

There was still hope.

Joplin glanced at the game dancing on the plasma screen above the pool table. She hauled her lips into a smile and dug her sharp elbow into her father's ribs. "Hey! The Lady Buckeye's are on."

Tony's eyes lit up like a couple of super-novas on a power surge at the mention of his beloved alma mater. He watched in a sublime silence as a sea of scarlet and grey zipped down the court. "The good ol days," he sighed, taking a wistful swig of beer. "How I miss 'em."

"They were number one in the Big 10 last season. I'm gonna be a Buckeye one day, just you watch," Joplin declared proudly.

"Keep playing like you did tonight and Jim Foster'll be beating down the front door trying to recruit you."

She blushed. "You think so?"

"I don't dish 'em out unless I mean 'em kid," Tony smirked and raised his beer.

She clinked her glass with his bottle before aiming her smile at Ziva. "Thanks for rolling with Tony to the game and for sticking with us afterwards."

Somebody put a couple quarters in the jukebox for Frank Sinatra to soar, a graceful hawk gliding through George Gershwin's "Embraceable You".

"You are welcome. You played a great game," she returned the smile and fiddled with her beer bottle's amber neck. "So, Tony tells me you have a birthday coming up. Fourteen, yes? You must be excited."

She shrugged. "It's not like I'll be eligible to do anything like rack up Tony's car insurance or vote for the next old dude to ruin the country. I already experienced the joy of being able to enter those contests on soda bottles last year so...same song, press repeat."

"Well, when you are my age you will look back and you will never want to do this again, so, make as many memories as possible to prove your future self wrong."

A faint, cheesy wraith of steam introduced the extra large pie before it made its way to the restless natives.

Ziva and Joplin shared eye rolls as they watched Tony engage in verbal foreplay with the waitress. Tony was selling and the little blonde college student was buying the whole load.

"Perhaps a shovel to go with the meal?" Ziva's voice held a caustic warning as a ghost of a smile danced on her lips.

Joplin snickered. Tony scowled. The waitress scrammed.

Brunette with a degree in torture tactics: one. Blonde who did not bother to exercise a degree of common sense: zero.

"Last time I checked, I didn't appoint you litigator of my lusty liaisons," Tony said brusquely as he snatched up the first slice.

Joplin cleared her throat. Time out: "Okay, wow...there's a minor present."

Green eyes glared at Ziva from beneath bushy brown brows. "Sipping the Haterade there aren't we, Zee-vah?"

"The what?"

"Haterade as in Gatorade—" Joplin explained around a mouthful of pizza. "You know the sports energy drink commercials with the sport stars sweating out the entire rainbow?"

Blank stare.

"You really don't know what—"

Tony shook his head and squeezed his girl child's shoulder. "Choose your battles, Grasshopper. So," He grinned arrogantly after along pull of beer. "Back to the green jealous monster screaming in Ziva's ear."

"I am not jealous of your litany of insignificant others. I do not care who you wine and deflower. However, you could at least have the decency not to swoop down on your prey when your daughter is present."

Joplin grinned. "Thanks for waving my banner, Ziva."

"Just a little harmless socialization. No need to go to Red Alert, but for the record," he leaned in, his breath tickling her nose. "You're cute when you're jealous."

He was in her personal space. Not obscenely close, but just enough to make Joplin Sullivan an orphan. She'd break his neck before she admitted he was right, though.

They finished their meal quickly after that. Tony left a tip and was surprised by the absence of an urge to include his number. Ziva excused herself to the restroom, leaving father and daughter to digest dinner and the rest of the basketball game.

Anthony DiNozzo had a special agent's power of observation. He noticed when a door opened, when an eyelash fell, a twitch of another man's jaw, the look people got when they forgot their Beano after a buttery meal...

He also had a nose for fear.

In his sixty some odd days of being her sole caregiver, Tony had learned to read his kid: hungry, moody, sleepy were the common emotions. Happy and mischievous placed high on the list.

Dejected? Maybe. Sad? Sure. Scared? Since when?

There was definitely some flavor of fear in her eyes and from the curl of her lips, he knew it was old and sour.

That managed to set off his"Something's Up With My Young'un" klaxons. His unique brand of paternal instincts were nestled comfortably between his bullshit radar and fashion sense, all three an intricate part of his being.

After what felt like hours, Joplin pulled her gaze away from picture window and slumped against the booth, shaken and bewildered. She squeezed her eyes shut and hurled them open, annoyed to find her father assessing her like a shrink.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she blocked. "Thought I saw somebody I knew."

Tony held her gaze and she surprised them both when she didn't squirm. "That your final answer?"

"Take a yoga breath, Tony," she tried to smile, but failed miserably "I said I was fine."

He let it go in time to see the Buckeye's star point guard foul out.

* * *

"Maybe it is her time of the month," Ziva shrugged, scooping up the sunglasses she'd come up to retrieve.

Tony grimaced. "Yeah, Ziva, because I really wanted to picture my daughter surfing the crimson tide. I'm still healing from the trauma sustained from discovering an infestation of unmentionables of the feminine hygiene persuasion crawling around my medicine cabinet."

"Slow your stroll," she rolled her eyes. "All I am saying is: she is a teenage girl and teenage girls do not share every morsel of their lives with their parents, especially their fathers."

"I don't expect her to tell me all her secrets while I paint her nails, but she seemed...off."

"The DiNozzo intuition. Wow...and that has never led you astray," she smirked, unimpressed by the green glare of death aimed at her forehead "Listen Tony, she will come to you when she is ready—if there is even anything to come to you about."

He frowned, pulling open the front door. Instantly a cold breeze spilled into the living room, as if it had been poised outside, awaiting its chance. "Look, what I know about fatherhood would fit into a vile the size of McChaste's love life, but my nose works and it got a whiff of freshly picked fear."

Ziva furrowed her brow. "You do not trust her, do you?"

"I worry about the kid. There's a difference, Zee-vah."

"A thin one."

He folded his arms. "That so?"

She looked at him, shrugged, and eased out the door. She jutted out a hand to prevent him from closing it. "Trust is the secret to the best relationships. Without it, they are just decorations."

* * *

Joplin busied herself with compound inequalities, scientific notation and other forms of algebraic abuse to keep from exploding into an Oscar worthy crying fit.

Epic fail.

Searing drops flicked against her bare arms and onto her textbook. Tears accompanied by an orchestra of huge, choking sobs. _Lovely._

Fear should come with a label: do not consume with copious amounts of teenage hormones.

The side effects were so inconvenient: the rage and vulnerability swallowed her up, leaving her in an airless sea of darkness.

Great, she'd landed smack dab in the middle of an emocore album.

Somehow she managed to tune out the melodic melodrama that had become the soundtrack of her thoughts and finish her homework.

However, the procrastination induced peace was shattered as the blue eyed memory lingering outside Pete's returned to its encampment at the forefront of her mind.

Apparently the Sullivan Sideshow was back in town and its exhibits were personally handing out tickets.

Weeping Willow and The Waterworks played three more sets before the sole member of their audience fell asleep.

* * *

Yay! Joplin's crazy relatives are being added to the mix.

Anyhow, I know some of you wanted to Gibbs slap me with a stick, or maybe the whole tree, for having Jeanne in the previous chapter. I still need her, but I won't be serving up a main course of Tony and Jeanne. This ain't that kind of establishment. ;)

The Tony/Ziva interaction will start to pick up as well, don't you worry. :)

Also, the playlist has been updated.

-Flash over and out.


	11. May Day

**Back Again:** I apologize for the lack of updates. Real life decided to kick in my door and jack me for my muse. :) I'll try to keep the updates coming, though. I want to get a wee bit further before the semester starts and my free time evaporates.

Thanks a lot for all the feedback and encouragement! It makes this worth writing.

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Eleven: May Day

* * *

I ebb and you flow.

It's a bit screwed, but you can't catch my love.

These stars are glistening.

These stars are listening.

I ebb and you flow.

It's a bit screwed, but you can't catch my love.

-May Day, Unkle, War Stories

* * *

La Grenouille. The international drug lord's almost-demise and Anthony DiNozzo's life connected by Tony DiNardo's love for the frog's deceived daughter.

He was this close to murdering Jeanne Benoit's father and he would've pulled the trigger because it was his job.

Jeanne was just a job.

Death had been quite the matchmaker, giving and taking from Anthony DiNozzo each time it darkened his doorstep.

Kate had to die in order to make a place for Ziva. Rodney Sullivan had to murder a man and in turn, be sentenced to the same fate in order for DiNozzo to learn about the life he'd accidentally created.

Once the dust settled and the clouds parted, death seemed to leave him little gold pots at the end of each rainbow.

How morbid was that?

Yes, it was odd, the things that brought people together, he thought as he listened to Ziva's passionate argument as to why she should choose their lunch accommodations.

Fat Tuesday's wasn't on Ziva's approved list, but they had a deal. DiNozzo's idea, of course. One day he picked the dive and she picked a salad and a fight, the next they ate somewhere health conscious, a place where the meal was free of fat and superfluous things like seasoning and taste.

"Are you still dating?" Ziva asked around a mouthful of Cobb salad.

"Not professionally," he replied with an abrasive smirk. He almost felt bad. Poor partner was just trying to make conversation. Though Ziva _had_ grown a tad...inquisitive as of late. It was quite flattering, actually—though he'd never cop to having one feeling for or about her.

Not yet, anyway.

It had been well over a year and he knew relatively little about the woman behind the mask. The ignorance was definitely mutual, however. She only knew what he broadcasted and while he was voluble, he was rarely forthcoming. Besides, to ask a question about the Ziva David within would only serve as an invitation for her to acquire intelligence on the many men residing in the diverse metropolitan that was his psyche.

So not worth the intrusion.

Okay, maybe it was—a little.

Who was he kidding? He knew enough. She was a rejecter, not a keeper, her dalliances mimicking those of a female praying mantis. Maybe she didn't bite the heads off of her swooning suitors, but he was sure she didn't serve breakfast in the morning either.

"Contrary to your popular delusions, you have always been quite an amateur when it comes to women," she stabbed at a stubborn artichoke heart as she pulled her lips into that wicked grin of hers. "Though the ones you seem to find are too blinded by ignorance or desperation to throw you back into the sea of fish you Americans are always talking about."

"Au contraire mon frère..."

"Need I remind you that I speak several languages, one of them being French. I know when I am being called a man."

"Whoa there," he waved his fork in surrender. However, the counterfeit innocence seizing his features brought the gesture's value down considerably. "The mon frère was just for rhyming effect, but if the jock strap fits, by all means, wear it a _ma soeur. _Anyway, what do you know about my preferences in women?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please Tony, with all the women you have slept with I can Google them. And why are you so grumpy, anyway? Did the woman of the week catch onto your charade and escape with her dignity in tact?"

Charade? She was not only nosy, but intuitive as well. She was right, not that he would ever give credit where it was due. At the end of the day, Tony DiNardo was an absurd pretense intended to create a pleasant and respectable appearance.

It was only a matter of time before Jeanne Benoit would peal back the disguise and see the mission and the man behind it.

Anthony DiNozzo hated charades, anyway.

He snorted to silence his internal Greek chorus. "Says the woman who could go out with a box full of C-4 and not end the date with a bang."

She raised her glass of water. "A talent of which I am proud."

Tony leveled her with one of his "take me seriously" gazes. "You want my honest opinion?"

"Oh, I will take that over the dishonest ones you have been gifting us with lately."

He frowned. "You need to loosen up. Live a little, Zee-vah. Stop living just to breathe. Find somebody to live for and just roll with the punches."

She smiled, though it was faint. Disappointed, almost. "Sounds as though you have already found that somebody."

Tony's cell phone sounded and both were grateful for the intrusion.

Joplin's school. Great.

"I thought she was staying out if trouble," Ziva threw a few bills on the table as she watched him close his phone and stuff it in his coat pocket. "I guess she has been pulling the cotton over your eyes."

"Wool and she's been distant, has been since we went to Pete's."

"Well," she stepped out of the booth. "Looks as though you will have plenty of time to ask her about it now that she has been suspended."

* * *

There were no esteemed female math teachers available. Judging by the man fumbling through his words like a jittery quarterback, not even qualified—whatever flavor of humanity—was on the menu.

Typical, Joplin thought as she avoided the dubious gaze of Carlton Ainsworth, everybody had beaten her to the crème de la crème.

And somebody had beaten good 'ol Ainsworth to a sense of style. The man was in brown and fabric synthetic as his hair. The lines on his sport coat were cut on the wrong side of excellent and his shoes were ghosts from Sear's very distant and distasteful past.

Joplin had been caught cheating on her math test. Cheated by either fate or genetics, Joplin's math teacher was compensating by torturing her, no doubt. It was all just another misunderstanding, but apparently teachers came down with "I'm Always Right" syndrome once they achieved tenure.

Joplin Sullivan wanted to crawl out the door behind Ziva David, who had quickly disappeared after labeling the situation a family moment. Carlton Ainsworth and Daddy DiNozzo were hovering over her in that blasé posture that adults assumed to lull their young into a false sense of security.

"What you did was wrong, Joplin," Ainsworth sputtered, trying too hard to play the concerned educator role. "Cheating is a serious offense, young lady."

"Sorry," she shrugged. She could really use somebody to talk to, somebody who would understand, but these two weren't going to cut it. So, she decided to play it simple. "I'll take whatever punishment you're gonna give. Throw the text book at me, your honor, for I have cheated."

Tony actually looked disappointed. Though she was more surprised by how much that bothered her. However, her shock was upstaged by the sting of her father's palm connecting with the back of her head.

"Did you just...Mr. Ainsworth, that's child abuse, tell him that's on the list of things you frown on around here, right next to potato chips and laughter."

"I didn't see anything."

She almost expected them to high five each other.

"Look, I panicked. I'm on the basketball team. I blow midterms and I'm riding the bench. Stress, it's the hallmark of the transition from girl to beyond. You know, with all the hormones raging and body parts growing. One minute I'm flat as a blade of grass and the next my cup runneth over. Then I have to keep up with the latest trends and gender rules and algebra and biology and so," she allowed herself a deep breath. "Who could blame a girl for being stressed?"

For his part, Tony didn't seem fazed.

Though, he was good at keeping things bottled up.

They had that in common.

"Are you finished?"

She looked up at her father. "Am I off the hook?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Then no."

A staring contest ensued. Daddy DiNozzo, one. Dastard Daughter, zero. He was definitely taking lessons from his boss.

Ainsworth shook his head. "I'd hoped this meeting with your father would bring out the loquacious Joplin Sullivan who either sleeps through my lectures or gets her friends in trouble with her garrulous stories..."

"I don't know the meaning of either of those two adjectives, but you know, for a math teacher you sure do have an excellent vocabulary. If this malicious master of mathematics gig doesn't work out, you'd make a great English teacher."

Insert Gibbs slap here.

"Shutting up."

"As I was saying," the Bea Arthur lookalike continued through pursed lips. "You leave me no choice but to suspend you."

"Hold on there, Dorothy," she shot to her feet. "Suspension? That's a little severe. Please, I beg of you, click your size ten heels and retract that suspension!"

"I've already discussed the matter with the principle and you are to return to school in three days. You have several study buddies as evinced by the...outside contribution to your homework. All assignments for this class are to be completed and turned in upon your return. Furthermore..."

"Furthermore? Okay, this is getting a little excessive..."

"..._Furthermore_, you will volunteer at a charity of my choosing."

She turned her wide eyes on an unmoved Anthony DiNozzo. "Tony, a little help here."

He just tilted his head. "Sorry, fresh out."

She held his gaze as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You _really_ don't wanna turn this around..."

"Whatever." Joplin snatched her backpack off the floor and trudged out the door. She couldn't bear to see Ainsworth and her father bond over the death of her social and sports life.

Just short of the car, she felt Tony's hands curl around her shoulders. "Parenting, it ain't my bag, baby. Reading people, however, is. This isn't you. Something's up with you and it's been up for awhile."

"I'm fine," she retched away. "I told you, the stress got to me."

"Listen, whatever it is..."

"Tony, I cheated on a math test and on a few homework assignments. I got caught and yeah it was stupid, but that doesn't mean something is going on. I know those parent awareness commercials go on and on about how important it is to probe and pry into your kids lives, but it really isn't necessary."

"I'm your father," he snapped, giving her shoulders a little shake. "I get to worry about you."

"For the billionth time," she shook away his touch. Her voice softened and she rewarded his concern with a small smile. "I'm fine. This isn't one of your movies. You don't need to create a crisis so you can James Bond all my troubles away."

"I know you. You're more like your old man than either of us care to admit. Whenever my...issues start trying to control my life and I do something stupid to make the people I care about notice me, I'm always fine."

"Gee, you have issues. There's the understatement of the millennium."

"That, my little clone, was a brilliant diversion. A little sarcasm with just enough bitterness to give it a real kick. You got my brains along with my looks, but you have yet to tell me what's going on."

"You can ask the question as many times as you want and I'll still be fine. Now, can we get out of here?"

* * *

"You got suspended?"

"Hi Abby, nice to see you too," Joplin eased into Tony's chair and smacked her feet onto his desk, much to his chagrin. "Hey, is that a new tat?"

Abby's face lit up like a flamethrower. "You noticed?" she frowned, her eyes only slightly dimming. "Don't change the subject. What'd you do?"

"She cheated on her math test," Tony shoved his kid's filthy Chuck Taylors on the floor.

"As you know, I went to MIT," McGee offered from his desk.

Tony rolled his eyes. "How could she not, McOvercompensates?"

"The point is: math is one of my strongest subjects, Joplin. I'd be happy to tutor you."

"Really?" she blushed. "I'd like that."

"Oh, I bet you would," Tony hauled her to her feet. "Before I met with your math teacher, I took the liberty of snagging your English assignment for you. Ducky, our all knowing medical examiner, was gracious, enough to offer his brain to you for awhile."

"Ducky's in autopsy."

"And?"

"Uh, there are dead people down there..."

"That's the point, kid."

"Boss," Tony straightened as though he'd been wacked in the lower back with a ruler. "Joplin got suspended so..."

"Suspended?" Gibbs arched his brow.

" 'Fraid so, Gibbs," Joplin sighed, taking a few safety steps back. "Please don't lecture me, I've had my fair share from Tony and Ziva."

"Not my style."

"And no head slapping either. Tony's gotten me so many times that I think I have amnesia. I don't even remember who I am."

"Most thirteen year olds don't."

"Reassuring isn't your style either, is it Gibbs?"

The ringing of Gibbs' cell phone saved her from yet another love tap.

"Grab your gear, dead Marine."

Joplin watched with wide-eyed fascination as bags flew onto backs and legs flew toward the elevator.

"Downstairs. Ducky. Now. I'll be back soon." Tony issued before the silver doors swallowed Team Gibbs.

Joplin glanced at Abby. "Why doesn't he understand my phobia of a room where dead people are cut up and talked to?"

Abby placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "I was afraid of Autopsy many moons ago, but I vanquished my fear and I am able to step into the bright lights and interesting smells..."

Joplin furrowed her brow. "Wait, don't you sleep in a coffin?" at Abby's narrowed eyes, she quickly amended. "A Goth with a fear of autopsy, hinkier things have happened. Can't name them, but they've happened."

* * *

"Is the dead guy decent?" Joplin poked her head through Autopsy's double doors.

Dr. Ducky Mallard let out a gentle laugh, waving her inside. "The coast is clear, my dear. Our young lieutenant is resting quite comfortably. Now, Anthony tells me you've been suspended."

She scrunched up her nose. "Gee, word travels fast around here."

"As it often does in tight knit communities and families," the medical examiner offered her a small smile. "So, tell me about this play you're reading."

"More like suffering through," she groaned before summarizing Ibsen's A Doll's House. "I kinda like it though. Ibsen was one of the first to point out the sacrifices women have to make in order to function in a male dominated world."

"Ibsen did paint a somber picture of the proprietary role of women, but the controversy of the piece lies in his willingness to illuminate the double standard governing women of all economic classes. For it's debut, Ibsen was forced to write an alternative ending as the original one was unconsidered unacceptable. He was not pleased."

"It just sucks, you know? Guys never have to sacrifice anything. It's always the girls who get the scarlet letter. Like in today's world, guys like my dad can bed hop until the fat lady is riddled with STDs, but if a girl were to do the same thing, several stigmatizing adjectives would ruin her life. Nora had to leave her kids in order to snag her independence, Mrs. Linde had to ditch her one true love because he didn't have the dough to take care of her, and the Nanny had to abandon her own kid in order to put food in her mouth. That's so unfair."

"It sounds as though you have an excellent essay prompt on your hands."

She shrugged. "I guess." There was a brief silence before she spoke again. "You know what really gets to me about this play?"

"No, but I imagine you're going to tell me."

"According to Torvald 'nearly all young criminals had lying mothers'," she reached up and began twirling the pendant on her necklace. "Do you think that's true?"

Ducky studied her face for a beat before answering. "I think children learn from their parents, but morality isn't some infectious airborne pathogen. Parenthood is a symbiotic relationship. Virtue is taught and both parties have many opportunities to watch and learn."

"I mean, being raised by certain people, taught to live a certain way doesn't corrupt you? And what about sacrificing your integrity to protect your family, even if doing so means hurting someone else, is that virtuous?"

"Why do I get the feeling this conversation is no longer about the play?"

"Because you're intuitive?"

Ducky smiled. "You ought to have this discussion with your father."

That earned him a decent little scoff. "He wouldn't understand."

"You'd be surprised to find to your similarities don't end with your looks and jocoseness."

"Joc-what?"

Ducky tut-tuted. "Playful or humorous. I'll have to start quizzing you."

"No, thank you. I get enough of that at school."

He chuckled. "As I was saying, talk to your father. If I've learned anything it is that hiding is an analgesic. It merely ebbs the pain. It doesn't eradicate it."

* * *

"You're sure you can't stay for dinner?"

Tony glanced at the clock on his cell phone. "The bigger the case, the tighter Gibbs' leash. I'll be in later, though."

She shrugged off her backpack and tossed it on the couch before heading to the kitchen. "I won't hold my breath."

"USA's having a Bond marathon on Saturday. I might loosen the iron fist I have wrapped around your weekend and let you watch it with me."

"Fine," she was already heating up a ramen cup.

He tugged on his ear. "Lock the door behind me. I want some of that math homework done when I get home."

"Sure," she watched him open the door before her mouth decided to take over and regurgitate her thoughts. "Hey Tony, I umm, I didn't copy anybody's work. Rather, I let them copy mine. Before you get mad, Carey Tyler's our best point guard, but her grades are horrible. We lose her, we lose the playoffs. Besides, her dad's one of those psycho 'get straight As or enjoy the facilities at the local homeless shelter' type of dudes so she _really _needed the extra boost. Gibb's rule number fifteen clearly states that you work as a team and _you_ always say never sit on the sidelines when your team's in trouble so I..."

"Wow," he interrupted with a shake of his head. He looked...moved. "I didn't think you listened to a word I had to say."

She pitched him a fast smile. "You're the only dad I've got."

He hit it back to her. "Still want that math homework finished when I get back."

"Whoa, you said 'some' of it. You can't change the rules once the game's started."

"One of the few joys of seeing my name splattered across every bill is, drum roll please: I get to make the rules. Finish eating and get to work."

"I might."

The microwave dinged just as he slipped out the front door. Before she could grab a fork, a soft knock sounded.

Laughing, she flung open the door. "Geez, I was just..."

Needless to say, Joplin Sullivan was surprised to find the man leaning against the doorframe was not her father.

* * *

_Insert mysterious pipe organ led melody here._

Yay, a cliffhanger! I'll pull you guys over to the safe side of knowing in my next update. Stay tuned. :)

Check out the playlist. It's been updated.

Thanks again for the encouragement, folks!


	12. Short Change Hero

**I got the random urge **to continue this. I noticed some new subscriptions as well so I figured, "why not?"

You guys have been so supportive during my long, random bouts of MIA. Here's an update before I head to class since I can't send brownies.

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Twelve: Short Change Hero

* * *

I can't see where you comin' from,

but I know just what you runnin' from.

And you feel like you feelin' now,

And doin' things just to please your crowd.

When I love you like the way I love you,

And I suffer, but I ain't gonna cut you 'cause,

This ain't no place for no better man.

This ain't no place for no hero

To call "home."

-Short Change Hero, The Heavy, The House That Dirt Built

* * *

Needless to say, Joplin Sullivan was surprised to find the man leaning against the doorframe was not her father.

"…_Mousey_?"

"In the flesh," he gave a short wave and flashed an impish grin. "How 'bout a hug?"

In normal families, an unexpected visit from an absentee uncle was cause for celebration. Pleasantries are exchanged. Hugs and kisses, pats on the back, souvenirs and smiles. Everybody goes out to dinner. Stories are swapped, beloved uncle relays tales of exotic adventures and fantastic voyages. Children gush. Adults admire. Shits, giggles, and grins.

Unfortunately, Joplin is a Sullivan. Normalcy is akin to leprosy amongst her kind. The Sullivans were the sovereign family of Screwed-Uppia. Anytime one of the royally fucked up court popped in unannounced—trouble was definitely afoot.

Trouble in this case was wrapped in an ill-fitting black suit, poorly pressed white shirt, and clumsily knotted tie. Brian "Mousey" Sullivan: the twenty-two year old, baby faced bomb making, convicted arsonist extraordinaire. According to Uncle Rodney, Mousey was serving time for an adult arson charge he caught at sixteen while in Boston's foster system. Allegedly, Mousey liked to collect their family's drug debts with matches.

"Uh…you're supposed to be in prison—in Massachusetts."

"You're lookin' at a free man, Niece," he gave his tie a rascal tug and smirked. "So, uh, gonna let me in?"

Joplin scowled at her mother's baby brother, glancing over his shoulder at the apartment across the hall. The crazy lady was home. Keeping her very uninvited guest in the hall wasn't going to work.

Apparently, people with obscene amounts of money used some of it to purchase an abundance of free time. The "Bloodhound" across the hall, as Tony affectionately called her, had cruelly taken to keeping tabs on Joplin in an effort to score points with her father. If that nosey bitch caught Mousey…

With an iron grip, Joplin lurched her uncle across the transom and kicked the door shut. "Okay," she folded her arms and backed further into the apartment. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Mousey's blue eyes knitted in feigned hurt. "So, no hug then?"

She gave him a once over, winkling her nose at his cheap suit and cheaper shoes. His characteristically unkempt hair was restrained in a shoulder length ponytail, a few brown strands idling in front of his forehead in protest. A sliver wallet chain snaked up the side of his right thigh. A small hoop looped through his left ear.

Tony wouldn't be caught dead in that get up.

She shuttered. Since when did she start judging guys based on what her quasi-father would do?

"Oh. My. God! Why are you even here right now? And what's with the suit?"

"Oh this old thing?" he gave her a wink before helping himself to a tour of the living room. "This guy has a fuckin' piano? Looks like Daddy's pretty loaded, eh? Not surprised though. Carly always knew how to pick 'em."

She ignored the jab at her mother. "I would ask how you found me, but…"

"…you know it'd be pointless. You know you can't hide from the family," he grinned at the wave of nausea that passed over her face. "Besides, I just wanted to make sure you were being properly looked after."

"I am. Thanks for checking. You can go."

"Hey now, that ain't no way to treat family? Especially not family that looked out for you the way I did when we were kids," he stalked into the kitchen and flung open the fridge. "All this money for these fancy ass appliances and that son of a bitch can't even keep the fridge stocked? Really? Does he even feed you?"

"Oh my god!" She screeched, dragging him out of Tony's precious kitchen. "We do take out, okay? One more time: why. Are. You. Here?"

"Why are _you_ actin' like you didn't wanna be found?" he wretched out of grasp and made his way over to the sofa. "Newsflash, Niece: when tryin' to hide, never put your location and school on your MySpace page. And speakin' of school, great game the other day. What'd you score, fifteen points?"

"Seventeen with nine assists," she flopped into the armchair across from him. "But that's not the point," she narrowed her eyes. "You didn't escape, did you?"

"Nope. They actually let me out. Good behavior, they said."

"Yeah, 'cause that happened," she scoffed. "If you escaped, you probably shouldn't have come here..."

"My bid was up, happy? Talk about no faith in a guy. _Anyway_, where does Daddy Warbucks keep the chips? I got a cravin' for salt."

"Why were you watching me outside of Pete's the other night?"

"Like I said, you're family. We always take care of our own."

His words sent a frigid frisson down her spine.

So _that's_ why he was here.

How he found out, she'd never know—and she didn't want to. The Sullivan's were a well-oiled machine. A ruthless, cold-blooded machine that took loyalty very seriously. Anybody who didn't follow the code got knocked off. Blood or not.

It was too bad she was gonna die.

She was finally starting to like life again. She had friends, played for a basketball team that was actually capable of winning, and she went to a school where real education was going on.

And Tony…

Well, he was Tony—and she really liked him that way.

Ziva was cool too. McGee was hot. Gibbs' gruff sorta grandfatherly routine was kinda nice sometimes and Abby, well she was the personification of unadulterated awesome.

She was really gonna miss them.

As she watched Mousey reach into his pocket, she wondered if Ducky would give Tony a discount for her autopsy…

"…Niece? Niece? Niece! Hello, anybody home?"

"…please don't kill me!"

Mousey blinked. Blinked again. Blinked one more time and then returned his cigarette back to the pocket of his suit coat. "You're not on some kinda shit are you? 'Cause I saw that movie Thirteen when I was in the joint and if you're into…"

"Wait, what? No!" she hurled herself up and began a short-routed pace. "No, I'm not on drugs! You're here and then you reach in your pocket because of what I did—"

"—relax! Okay, I'm not thrilled. To be honest, I hate it," he sighed when she flinched. "But kill you? Kinda dramatic, don'tcha think?"

Insert blank stare here.

"Okay, it _has _been known to happen," he conceded sheepishly. "But, Niece…I don't blame you, okay? I meant what I said about family takes care of family. Rodney's not here to protect you so the job falls on me."

She stopped pacing. "So am I in trouble?"

"No, the family's not lookin' to bump ya if that's what ya meant," he gave a little chuckle. "Truthfully, I'm not here about that ugly business. I'm here with good news: Uncle Packie's out."

"He's _here?_"

"Yup, and he's rebuilding. We're cleaning things up—hence the suit— and when everything gets straightened out, he wants you to come back home."

Going back to the Sullivans? After everything that happened? And the award for best "Not Fucking Likely" goes to…

"Uh…not to be rude or anything, but I'm kinda like, happy here. Tony's…"

"…a Fed," he rolled his eyes at her affronted scowl. "Think about it, Joppy! What Sullivan do you know ever made it on the right side of the law? Sure, some of us sampled being legit, but it sure as hell didn't last long. It's in our blood, Niece. No Sullivan can last in a den full of cops. Daddy's den or not."

"It's not like that. He actually wants me around—unlike my mom. Tony and me, we're like, building something. It's nice to have somebody normal—"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted as he stood, placing a calloused hand on her bare arm. "You know, about Carly. If I could've made her stay…"

"You were a kid too. Besides, it's not like I was the only one she ditched."

His eyes darkened as he snatched his hand away. "No, you weren't."

"Uncle Rodney tried to find you, but they said you got lost in the system."

"Yeah, I bet," came his petulant retort.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said—"

"Don't worry about it. Listen, I get having a shiny new parent to count on's pretty cool. If I got a second chance with my dad I wouldn't wanna leave either. But, Joppy, you chose the law over family once—"

"Tony's not the law! He's my father!"

"For what, three months? The Sullivans looked out for you when his silver spooned ass couldn't even be bothered! Take a look around, Niece. Your picture isn't even on his wall! He's been a Fed longer than he's been your father. This," he pulled out his wallet and flipped through it. Thrusting in into her shaking hands, he tapped at the plastic covered picture. "This is what's real."

Joplin stared numbly at her three-year-old self, inwardly cringing at the pink tutu and yellow rain boots she'd loved so much. Thirteen-year-old Mousey, dressed for his First Communion, grinned at the camera, arms draped protectively over the toddler's knobby shoulders.

"You look amazed," he said when she continued to stare silently at the picture.

"I am," she snapped the wallet shut and shoved it into his palm. "That you still have a wallet in 2007."

He grinned and tweaked her nose. "That's my girl. Now, where's your bathroom? Gotta drain the weasel."

She groaned "Down the hall and to the left."

When she heard the bathroom door close she returned to the couch, Mousey's words in her brain.

_He's been a Fed longer than he's been your father. _

So what? It wasn't like that was breaking news. It was obvious that Team Gibbs and their fearless leader were more like family than co-workers. She also knew her father worshiped Gibbs and that every ounce of his loyalty belonged to the guy.

And that never bothered her.

But for some reason, right then, the barren walls of Tony's apartment reverberated with more truth than his actions.

She wasn't fully home.

Scrubbing the tears from her eyes, she stood and stalked down the hall toward the bathroom. "You should probably go. Tony'll shit bricks if he finds you here."

"Too late."

Joplin whirled around to find Tony and Ziva glowering at her from the freshly closed door.

This was not going to end well.

* * *

**The next chapter **will have _way_ more Tony/Ziva in it. Any by "way more" I mean actual dialogue. I used this update to set up the dynamic between Joplin & Mousey, introduce the fuckery that is the Sullivans, and bring in "Joplin's Little Secret".

I'll post the next chapter later because this one's kinda long and I didn't want to overwhelm you guys.

So, thanks for reading! Love to all of you.


	13. We Might As Well Be Strangers

**Look! **I updated in a timely fashion. I'm proud.

Many thanks everyone who reviewed, subscribed, favorite, and read!

* * *

Rhapsody In You

Chapter Thirteen: We Might as Well Be Strangers

* * *

I don't know your thoughts these days.

We're strangers in an empty space…

We Might as Well Be Strangers, Keane, Hopes and Fears

* * *

" 'Driving laws: they're your friends,' " Ziva bit out as Tony aggressively yanked the Charger across two lanes of tight traffic. "You really ought to practice what you teach, Tony."

" 'Preach' not 'teach'," he gritted, swerving around a sluggish Windstar. "And that was before I had a teenager trying to convert my apartment into a spooning shack."

"Oh, you were thirteen once."

"Exactly."

He skewed across three more lanes, plowed through six stop signs, and caromed the car down miles of pitted pavement—all to save the sanctity of his sanctuary.

He wasn't speeding home to strangle some boy with his own entrails. He wasn't rushing to preach a sermon about respecting herself, about avoiding mistakes that could ruin her life, about following his rules, about not even telling him she was dating someone…

Because that would make him a dad.

Not some guy on the peripherals of parenting.

Try as he might, he could not delude himself of the facts.

Daddy DiNozzos were paternally inept. No matter how many steps forward he'd take with the kid, he was doomed to haul them miles back. Just the nature of the beast, he knew.

But he could try. He could try not to screw her up. He could endeavor to be meaningful without being mean. He could listen.

He could bend over backwards to be everything Senior was too self-absorbed to be…

"Remember what Ducky said," Ziva's voice shook him out of his reverie. "She cannot help it. 'The nerve cells that connect teenagers' frontal lobes with the rest of their brains are depressed. It's because of this that her reasoning abilities are lacking. It has nothing to do with your parenting skills.' " *

"The teenagers are neurologically stupid' excuse, uh: not working," he retorted before slamming the door and hauling ass upstairs.

Unfortunately, The Bloodhound was lingering outside the elevator. She eagerly pounced on her unamused neighbor, completely oblivious to Ziva's bemused presence.

"Oh goody," she trilled enthusiastically. "You got my message! Though, it would be much more efficient if I could call directly instead of having to involve the super."

"Yeah…thanks…" he managed to juice out a teaspoon of thankfulness. He was quite proud. "…for being obses—_serve_—vant. Thanks for being an observant neighbor."

"It's really no trouble," she beamed, keeping pace with him. "It must be hard being a single father, managing a teenage girl alone. I'm _more_ than willing—"

"Thanks, but—"

"—it's really no trouble," she pushed as he fumbled for his keys. "I could come in and talk to her. You know about…_feminine _issues."

"Uh…wow…that's okay 'cause…"

"I have the feminine territory covered."

"Oh," the Bloodhound paused, resentfully acknowledging Ziva's existence. "And you are…"

"A friend!" Tony barreled in. "My very feminine friend who has femininity down to a science. So, if you'll excuse us…"

"I'll be across the hall if—"

"Uh-huh, thaaaank you," and with that, he pulled Ziva inside and closed the door. "I hate her."

"Really?" she smirked. "I thought you liked desperate and domineering."

"No, I like busty and bossy," he quipped, frowning suspiciously at the Joplin-less living room. Realization dawned like a Gibbs slap across the head. "The bedroom!" he hissed. "She's in, _they're _in—"

"Shh," Ziva clamped her palm over his mouth and nodded at the hallway. "Look."

There was Joplin, parked in front of the closed bathroom door, her shoulders dejectedly slumped. "You should probably go," she warned her soon to be dead guest. "Tony'll shit bricks if he finds you here."

"Too late."

Joplin jolted around.

At least she had the decency to look terrified. The hovering jaw and dinner plate wide eyes were nice touches.

"Tony! I didn't hear—"

"Save it!" he stalked passed her and went "cop" on the door. "_You_, whoever you are, come the hell out and—"

"Tony, it's not…"

He whirled on her. "I thought I told you to save it! What the hell were you thinking? First the suspension and now _this_?"

"I know this looks bad, but—"

" 'Looks' bad? Try again! You have a boy—"

"But he's not…"

"How could you violate my sanctuary, kid? After…"

Whatever ounce of terror she'd been harboring suddenly evaporated and he was faced with the red, winkled face of a teenage girl on the verge of a bitch fest. He'd seen them in movies. There were hurricanes with shorter winds. He just prayed she'd settle for throwing herself in her room instead of hurling around his very precious, and super expensive décor.

"Exactly! It's _your_ sanctuary, isn't it?"

"Well yeah—"

"And I just live here, right?"

He could see were this was going. "Don't turn this on…"

"Whatever, Tony. I'm just a guest in your home _and_ the b-movie you call a life!"

"Lets all calm down," Ziva interjected.

"I _am_ calm, Ziva. Look, I get it, okay? I've been in foster homes before…"

"Foster? –It's not…"

"Really? 'Cause it feels like one."

"If I could get a _word_ in you'd…"

"—don't wanna hear it! The walls say everything!"

"The walls—_what?_ What are—"

"Yeah, the walls!" she stamped into the living room, flinging an all-encompassing hand about. "My picture isn't even up!"

She was right.

The walls were devoid of the typical trinkets that denoted "family" life. No pictures. No scribbled drawings. No framed basketball game tickets…

Because those things spelled personal. Didn't she know DiNozzos were really, really awesome at screwing up "personal"? Didn't she know that kind of hard, emotional conversations festering in "personal"?

Apparently not, because she was eyeballing him with undaunted, yet diffident expectation.

This was the part when he was supposed to morph into the honest, but saccharin sitcom dad. He was supposed to be a fountainhead of affection, gushing out deluges of paternal pledgees. He was supposed to be nurturing and soothing, not droll and sarcastic.

Why couldn't she just accept his efforts?

Why couldn't she understand that he didn't do personal because he didn't know how?

Joplin, however, let out a caustic laugh. "Yeah, that's what I thought! Listen since you obvious _suck_ at parenting, here's some help: I'm sending myself to my room," she heaved body into hallway, only to stop and jerk around. "Oh yeah, the guy in the bathroom: he's my uncle."

Tony turned to Ziva, gobsmacked. "Did that just happen?"

"Well, that was special," as if the slamming of Joplin's bedroom door were his cue, the alleged uncle exited the bathroom and strutted into the living room. "Oh, she wasn't shitting you, by the way. I really am her uncle."

Good news: she really didn't have a boy over.

Bad news: it was a grown as man.

Better news: he'd get to arrest the asshole.

Worse news: he'd have to have a "talk" with his kid.

Great.

"Got any ID?"

"Wow, a cop through and through, eh?" the soon to be established uncle smirked, fishing his wallet from his tragically tacky pants. "There ya go."

Tony scrutinized the card. Brian. Brian Sullivan. Brian…

The memory of a kid swimming in his suit, his hair just a few inches shy of being girlishly long, sputtered into view. He remembered shaking the kid's stiff, limp hand. Feeling uncomfortable under Rodney's kid brother's cold blue eyes…

"Mickey?"

"Mousey," he corrected evenly.

"You say tomato…"

"I'll give it to ya, DiNozzo: you've done damn good for yourself. Piano, fireplace, kick-ass appliances, a sweet TV," he smirked at Ziva. "A sweeter chick…"

Luckily for him, Ziva was unmoved by his lecherous gaze. "I will check on Joplin."

"Yeah, this a helluva pad," Mousey ran his fingertips across the piano. "But with all the money you pocketed skipping child support..."

"…I didn't know."

"You didn't wanna know. But, hey, no worries. When Carly couldn't do it, Uncle Packie stepped up. When he got pinched, Rodney came through. Now that he's gone, it's on me."

"Funny, Joplin was a ward of the state for months. Where were you then?"

"Away."

"Ah, I see. Class C or D felony?"

Mousey smirked. "Both."

Tony spurted a jarring laugh. "Oh, you _so_ owe me."

"Really? For what?"

"The ten minutes of my life I'm gonna waste tracking down your parole officer."

"Hey man, I'm not tryin' to step on your toes or anything," Mousey held his hands up and backed away in mock surrender. "I mean, being an insta-dad probably isn't all shits and giggles. I just came by to tell Joppy about a death in the family—"

"...that explains the garbage bag masquerading as a suit…"

"—_and_ to let her know I'd be here—regardless."

"She knows. You can go."

"All right, all right," he slithered toward the door. "Hey DiNozzo?"

"Yeah?"

"Gotta say, the walls are workin' for me."

Tony groaned after the door slammed.

If Tony knew anything about Sullivans it was that they didn't go quietly.

Great.

* * *

When Ziva poked her head in Joplin's room, she didn't expect to find her stretched out on her bed, surrounded by a sea of school supplies, thoroughly engrossed in her laptop.

"May I come in?"

"Sure," she consented placidly without looking up.

Ziva surveyed Tony's former office. The furnishings were standard—twin bed, six-drawer chest, a nightstand, a desk. However, there were hints of Joplin scattered about. A pair of depilated Vans stacked at the foot of the bed, a rainbow of notebooks strewn across the desk. Her Denver Nuggets comforter. A clothes hamper with a basketball hoop hung over the closet.

However, there were no pictures on wall.

Ziva pulled the chair from under the desk and perched upon the edge of it "What are you working on?"

"An essay. Ducky gave me a great idea for a prompt."

"So I—"

"—Ziva, it's okay. _I'm _okay."

And that's what bothered her. She really was "okay". If the girl had been sobbing into her pillow, Ziva could've lived with that. But the resignation…

Even if Joplin was jumping to the wrong conclusion, the idea of her reconciling herself to being unwanted…

"You are not unwelcome here, Joplin."

"I know," she shrugged, eyes still on her screen.

"Your father is just as apprehensive about this as you are."

"I know."

Apparently being exasperating was genetic. "You are just as distant as he is!"

That got her attention. "One, I'm not distant," she counted off indignantly. "Two, I didn't say I was an 'unwelcomed' guest."

"I understand. You have been shuffled around and whenever you get comfortable, you have to leave..."

"Or I get left," Joplin grumbled sullenly. "What's your point?"

"You cannot expect people to open up if you remain closed off."

"So it's my fault?"

"Of course not! It is a two-way road. Your father plays it close to the chest too—what?"

The girl erupted into a fit of giggles. "Man, I gotta teach you colloquiums."

At least she was smiling. "Joplin, I know for certain Tony wants you here."

"It's not that," she sighed, pushing her laptop aside. "It's like…I don't really fit into his life. I mean, I'm not ungrateful. Technically, he could've flipped Jack the bird and left, but like…I dunno…it's like I'm here, but I'm not _here_..."

"You think by not having your picture on the wall…"

"…he doesn't have to admit this his my home too."

* * *

Tony eased his head off the door and rubbed his jaw.

One, he needed to break up their little sap fest before Ziva launched one of her fishing expeditions.

Two, he had to offer Joplin some semblance of comfort.

However, just as he was about to enter, his phone vibrated.

Jeanne.

When he finally pushed open the door, instead of comfort, he brought orders. Joplin was to accompany Ziva to NCIS. He'd be there soon.

He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't relieved when they didn't argue. Ziva grabbed her coat, Joplin scooped up her backpack, and the two of them silently headed off.

He'd be an even bigger liar if he pretended Ziva's disappointed scowl and Joplin's stoic goodbye weren't knives though his gut.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

**A few things:**

* the information Ziva quoted from Ducky is actually true. There have been several studies on the matter, studies I didn't participate in or publish. Just disclaiming, folks. Nothin' to see here. :)

The playlist has been updated.

I edited the previous chapter for stray errors.

If possible, sling some comments my way. I like knowing what you guys think.

Cheers!


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